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SSSH — LET HIM ALONE — DON’T MOVE AN EYELID” 

{page 75) 








Camp Ken-jockety 

BY 

ETHEL HUME BENNETT 

Author of “ Judy of York Hill ” 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 



Boston and New York 
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
Wqz 3&iberstbe press Cambridge 
1923 




COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY ETHEL HUME BENNETT 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



©C1A760Q09 

QTfjt 3&(ucrs(tje Precis 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A, 

NOV 15 *23 


'H o t 



TO 

MY MOTHER 










I 












CONTENTS 

I. Introduces the Heroine 1 

II. Introduces Ken-jockety 16 

III. New Experiences 43 

IV. A Picnic and a Sailing Lesson 68 

V. “What I hate, that do I” 81 

VI. Her First Bass 95 

VII. An Adventure with a Snake 113 

VIII. Ups and Downs ~ 142 

IX. A Pageant and a Party 169 

X. The Camping-Trip 191 

XI. The Camp-Fire 212 

XII. Joyce Learns the Meaning of Love ' 233 

XIII. The Regatt4 257 

XIV. The Gift 276 













CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


CHAPTER I 

INTRODUCES THE HEROINE 

“Mrs. Ashton will be disappointed if you 
don’t come, Jerry. She considers you one of 
her lions for to-night,” said a clear voice at the 
door, and Colonel Hamilton, looking up from 
his letters, saw his cousin obviously ready to 
leave. 

“ Then I must certainly go and roar gently,” 
said the Colonel, smiling. “Old friends like 
Mrs. Ashton must not be disappointed, but I 
have important things to attend to first of all. 
I’ll join you a little later. Shall I ring for 
Hodgins?” 

“No, thank you. He was to be here at a 
quarter to nine. Joy is bringing me my fan. 
You won’t change your mind about Joy, 
Jerry?” 

And then, as the Colonel shook his head 
and was about to speak, she continued with 
a sudden irritation: 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“I don’t know what else you want for her, 
I’m sure. She can have good sea air, and bath¬ 
ing, and golf, if she wants it — though I must 
say the child is strangely indifferent about 
playing! But then almost anything seems to 
bore her. We are within reach of town, at all 
events, and the Turners will be there. This 
Canadian camp — what’s its name? — Ken- 
jockety? — sounds absolutely uncivilized! Oh, 
I know, ‘back to nature,’ ‘the simple life,’ and 
all that sort of thing; but Joyce isn’t used to 
roughing it. She’ll hate it, and she’ll be furi¬ 
ous if this Mrs. Davidson tries to manage her. 
And perhaps you’ll find out, Jerry Hamilton, 
that it isn’t as easy to deal with young people 
as it used to be. Now, Joyce — but you’ll see 
for yourself.” 

“What will he see?” cried a gay young 
voice as a girl came quickly into the library. 
“Your new opera cloak? Um-um! Fanchot 
turned you out pretty well this time, Cousin 
Edith. Her lines are better than Marie’s; the 
black velvet is just right — yes — I do like the 
jade lining: you might tell her to make me a 
frock that shade next time you’re down. I 
need a couple more, and I suppose I shall 
always have to wear green as long as there is a 


INTRODUCES THE HEROINE 3 


tint of bronze in my hair. We call it bronze, 
Daddy Jerry. Please take notice! Au revoir. 
Cousin Edith. Have you got a clean hanky? 
Don’t forget to say you had a nice time.” 

Miss Hamilton shook her handsome head 
reprovingly at this pertness, glanced at her 
watch, reminded the Colonel again of his 
promise, and was gone. 

Joyce threw herself into one of the big 
library chairs and yawned. 

“I wish to goodness Chang wouldn’t give 
us such ridiculously small cups of coffee: a 
thimbleful’s no sort of a pick-me-up at all. 
Did you want me, Dad? I expect Piggy any 
minute.” 

“Of course, I want you, I always do,” was 
the quick answer. “I especially want you this 
evening. Didn’t I make that clear?” 

Joyce opened her lovely gray eyes rather 
widely. 

“Oh! I thought you just had something to 
say to me. Piggy ’phoned this afternoon and 
wanted me to race with him: he and Crook 
Johnston have a bet on — I don’t know exactly 
about the race, but it’ll be speedy all right. 
Piggy killed three hens and a little dog last 
night, but he didn’t lose a second.” 


4 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


The Colonel took the chair opposite his 
daughter and said rather grimly. 

“And who, may I ask, is Piggy?” 

“Piggy? Oh, Piggy Turner. His mother 
and Cousin Edith are great pals; they play 
golf all day at the Bay, and bridge all night, 
and Piggy and I root around.” 

“Root?” said the Colonel. “Ah, yes! 
Piggy. I see. It must be a handicap to have 
a name like that.” His eyes twinkled. “He 
roots, and hoots, too, I take it. When does he 
propose to descend upon us?” 

“Any minute now,” said Joyce. “I almost 
wish I’d said ‘no’ for to-night. I can’t think 
why I’m so sleepy!” 

“Then I will say ‘no’ for you. Travers” 
(this to the maid who was taking away the 
tray), “when Mr. Turner calls, please say that 
Miss Hamilton is unable to go out to-night.” 

“I think that ‘unable’ is rather neat,” he 
commented, turning again to Joyce, “for since 
you had made a previous engagement with 
me—” 

Joyce’s eyebrows drew together in a quick 
frown — she seemed to be about to make 
some objection, then relaxed again and said 
indifferently: 


INTRODUCES THE HEROINE 5 


“ Oh, well! I’m sure I don’t care. I used to 
be awfully keen on racing.” 

“Used to be?” said her father. “And what 
are you ‘awfully keen on’ now?” 

Joyce repressed another yawn, not quite 
successfully. 

“Awfully keen on now?” she repeated won- 
deringly. “It isn’t Christmas, nor my birth¬ 
day. Do you want to buy me a present to 
make up for going away again just as soon as 
you come home from France? No? Seriously? 
Well — well — I don’t know — I was crazy 
about dancing last year, but it’s a bore now. 
You might get me another mount if you really 
want to give me a present — of course, Bijou 
is pretty fair yet. I’d want a winner, and that 
would cost a lot. Don’t bother — riding’s 
rather a bore.” 

“I hadn’t thought of it just that way,” said 
her father thoughtfully. “But I have a gift 
for you — a gift that money could not buy — 
not any amount of money.” 

He sat absorbed in thought a moment or 
two, and then, to Joyce’s disappointment, 
changed the subject. 

“I’m sorry to have to go overseas again, 
honey, sorrier than you know, but those poor 


6 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

people will starve unless the railroads are put 
into some sort of shape, and as I’ve had the 
necessary experience and am free to go — 
that’s all there is to it.” 

Joyce gave a sudden little cry of delight. 
She was sitting up straight now; there was a 
lovely rose color in her cheeks and her eyes 
were sparkling. 

“Daddy Jerry!” she exclaimed. “I’ve had 
the loveliest idea! I know now what I’m 
awfully keen to do — why didn’t I think of it 
before? Well, I was a silly.” 

She got up and shook her head reprovingly 
at her own reflection in the mirror beside the 
fireplace. 

The Colonel looked at her tenderly. How 
beautiful the child had grown! But what was 
this she was saying? 

“ — big silly not to think before — of 
course, you can go with Daddy Jerry to Paris 
and stay with the Freers and the Ogdens and 
have a ripping time there until the old rail¬ 
roads are fixed.” 

She brushed a butterfly kiss on her father’s 
forehead, and began to pirouette about the big 
library, sleepiness and fatigue banished as if by 
magic. 


INTRODUCES THE HEROINE 7 


“What a good thing the Freers invited me 
before they went; I can week-end with the 
Ogdens at the sea. And the boulevards and the 
shops! Well, that’s that. I can’t imagine why 
I didn’t think of it before. The very thought 
; of Fisherman’s Bay bored me to tears.” 

She was back in the big chair smiling con¬ 
fidently at her father. The answering smile in 
Colonel Hamilton’s eyes was fond and proud, 
but his lips were set in the firm straight line 
which the men of his regiment could have told 
Joyce meant business. 

“It sounds like a very nice plan except for 
one important detail,” he said, rather slowly. 
“I shall not be in Paris all summer, and from 
what I know of the Freers I certainly should 
not wish you to spend the summer with them, 
nor yet with the Ogdens.” 

“They’re really all right, Dad,” said Joyce 
carelessly, as if contemplating no real opposi¬ 
tion to her plan. “You’ve been away so long 
you can hardly know the family now; Jane 
Freer is at school with me, and Ted is quite 
passable.” 

“Is Jane a friend of yours?” he asked. “I 
mean a real pal? I don’t seem to remember 
her name in your letters.” 


8 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

“Jane?” said Joyce vaguely. “Oh, no, not 
more than the others — she’s a good sort, of 
course.” 

“Who is your special friend ?” asked the 
Colonel, emphasizing the last word unmis¬ 
takably. 

“Well-11,” said Joyce slowly, “I don’t know 
— I know heaps of people, of course — there’s 
the crowd at school — and at the country 
club — and at the sea. Eve Hinkley will 
always run me about if Cousin Edith can’t let 
me have a motor, and Piggy isn’t a bad sort.” 

Joyce’s tone was puzzled and a little bit 
annoyed. 

“Just so,” said her father. “And now to 
pleasanter themes. You don’t seem to be 
curious about that gift I spoke of. You re¬ 
member the Davidsons, of Toronto, of course. 
I used always to make a flying trip once a year 
to visit them, but I haven’t seen them since 
Michael was killed at Vimy.” His voice broke 
into a huskiness he could not quite control, 
and he paused a moment. “ Some day, honey, 
you’ll have a friend, please God, a real pal 
such as Michael was to me, one whom you 
trust and who would trust you, were the whole 
world against you —” 


INTRODUCES THE HEROINE 9 


Joyce was on the arm of his big chair now, 
and she flung her arms impulsively around his 
neck. 

“I was so sorry, Daddy,” she said in a low 
voice. “I knew you would grieve.” 

“Grieve?” said the Colonel. “Yes, but 
there’s joy too, much joy. ’ Member Shake¬ 
speare’s sonnet, Joyce — ‘When, in disgrace 
with Fortune and men’s eyes’? No? Don’t 
they give you Shakespeare to read at school 
nowadays?” 

Joyce shook her head. (“Shakespeare?” 
she thought. “Oh, yes, the ‘Merchant of 
Venice’ man. How quaint of Daddy!”) 

“‘Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising. 

Haply I think on thee; and then my state. 

Like to the lark at break of day arising 

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate: 

For thy sweet love rememb’red such wealth brings 
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.’ —■ 

That’s what thoughts of Michael bring me. 
‘Haply I think on thee.’” 

Almost involuntarily Colonel Hamilton’s 
hand went to an inner pocket and brought out 
a tiny folded morocco case. In it were three 
little pictures: one of a bride, exquisitely 
lovely in her veil and orange blossoms; one of 


10 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

a beautiful youth, a Sir Galahad he seemed, 
“sans peur et sans reproche”; and one of a 
tiny, curly-headed, white-frocked girl whose pi¬ 
quant grace gave promise of the beauty flow¬ 
ering now in the slim young thing bending over 
the photographs. 

The Colonel placed them in a row along the 
sleeve of his dinner-jacket. 

“I used to prop them that way, along the 
splints,” he said. “They made everything 
worth while. ‘Haply I think on thee’ — too 
bad you don’t know your Will Shakespeare, 
Joyce, we’ll have to make his acquaintance 
together.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then 
the Colonel brought himself back with an 
effort to the business in hand. 

“Michael’s sister, Mrs. Davidson, spends 
her summers on an island at Wahnanee Bay, 
on the Georgian Bay; her husband, Graeme 
Davidson, is a professor at the University of 
Toronto, and there are four children: Drew, 
who is a fine upstanding lad with Michael’s 
eyes; Christine, who must be about your age; 
Dicky and Peggy, who were engaging tots the 
last time I was there.” 

Joyce made as if to speak, but the Colonel 


INTRODUCES THE HEROINE 11 


went on: “Mrs. Davidson wrote — at least, 
telegraphed to me, when she knew I was 
returning to France, an invitation for you to 
spend the summer with them. I felt as if some 
one had made me heir to a gold mine when 
I got that bit of yellow paper. Gold mine! 
That’s a tiny word. Joy, she’s — she’s a real 
Person. I envy you. She’s made a home — 
the real article — I don’t seem to be able to 
get away from that word ‘real.’ There isn’t 
anything in the world I’d sooner do than 
pack a bag, take the night train for Toronto, 
and then go up with the Davidsons to Ken- 
jockety. You don’t know what fresh air is, 
honey, till you draw in big breaths of that 
water-washed, ozone-filled Georgian Bay air! 
And the canoeing, and the sailing, and the 
fishing!” 

Joyce had slipped back to her own chair. 
She smiled, politely, at her father’s enthusiasm. 

“It sounds attractive,” she said, “though I 
never could understand what people saw in 
living all hugger-mugger in a tent or camp, 
but I dare say it would be fun to go for a short 
time, if I were not going to Paris.” 

There was a hint of decision and firmness in 
the last words. 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


12 

“It’s a stroke of luck, oh, the very best and 
most glorious sort of luck, that you can 
go to Wahnanee, since you are not going to 
Paris.” 

There was no lack of decision in the Col¬ 
onel’s voice. 

Joyce rose and faced her father. 

“But I don't want to go to visit the David¬ 
sons, and I do want to go to Paris.” 

“There are considerations that weigh more 
than ‘don’t want to,’ my dear,” said Colonel 
Hamilton. “ I’ve thought the matter over very 
carefully; you can’t be expected at sixteen to 
be as wise as your old Dad, who has been 
knocking about the world for years and years 
picking up all sorts of wisdom; the sort of life 
you would lead at Paris with the Freers, or at 
Boulogne with the Ogdens, or at Fisherman’s 
Bay with Cousin Edith, isn’t the best that I 
can give you, and I’m glad and grateful that I 
can offer you a ‘best.’” 

“You just refuse?” said Joyce, in amaze¬ 
ment and anger drawing her brows together in 
a threatening line. 

“Yes,” said the Colonel. “I do — abso¬ 
lutely.” 

Joyce’s eyes blazed; no one now would say 


INTRODUCES THE HEROINE 13 


they were gray eyes; there was a fury in them 
that made one think of flashes of fire; her 
beautiful face was distorted. 

“I won’t go!” she cried. “I won't! I will go 
to Paris —I’ll—” 

“Steady, steady,” said the Colonel’s voice. 
“Don’t be childish, Joyce; surely you’ve con¬ 
quered the tempers of nursery days.” 

The pain in his eyes and voice was un¬ 
noticed by Joyce. 

“Childish!” she stormed. “Childish! You 
can command me if you like, but you’re not 
going to treat me like one of your soldiers, 
even if you are my father. I don’t want to go 
and I won't! How dare —” 

“That’s enough, Joyce,” said her father in a 
voice she had never heard. “ Go to your room. 
I shall speak to you later.” 

Surprised into obedience, Joyce turned and 
walked proudly out of the library without so 
much as looking at her father, but, as she 
crossed the hall, she was directly in front of a 
large old-fashioned mirror which hung oppo¬ 
site the library door, and there sat her father 
as if he were a couple of feet away. He still 
held the little photographs in his hand, but his 
eyes, which had looked so proudly from the 


14 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


pictured loveliness to the beautiful young 
daughter before him, were covered now with 
one hand, as if he could not bear to be re¬ 
minded of the face he had just seen. It was 
the hand with the long red scar. 

Joyce stopped: the anger cleared from her 
eyes as there leaped to her remembrance the 
days following Sanctuary Wood, when she and 
Cousin Edith had waited and longed for more 
word from doctors and nurses. How could she 
have forgotten! And here was Daddy Jerry — 
her old playmate and pal — Daddy Jerry for 
whom she had been looking all these years. 
And she had wounded him. 

Like mist disappearing before the sun, her 
anger was gone, and she was back on her 
father’s chair, her arms tight around his neck, 
her lips to the scar. 

“Pm sorry. Daddy,” she murmured, “aw¬ 
fully sorry, dreadfully sorry. I don’t know 
how I could! Of course, I’ll go to Canada if 
you want me to. Say that you love me just a 
little. Your voice hurt me.” 

An hour later, Colonel Hamilton and his 
daughter were still talking. Joyce’s eyes were 
shining again like pools of cool gray water lit 
by twin stars. 


INTRODUCES THE HEROINE 15 

“Do you have to go to Mrs. Ashton’s? Wait 
just a minute; you haven’t told me much 
about Christine yet. She’s going to matter far 
more than Professor and Mrs. Davidson.” 


CHAPTER II 

INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 

“I hope they won’t be late,” said Colonel 
Hamilton, looking at his watch for the third 
time in the last five minutes. “Ah! here they 
come now.” 

The Colonel’s pleasure and interest had com¬ 
municated itself to Joyce, and she hurried 
after him down the platform. When she saw 
him stop and greet a lady with several children, 
she almost closed her eyes for a moment before 
taking the first real look. Supposing they were 
what she and Cousin Edith had been wont to 
designate “Impossible”! 

The tall lady turned as Joyce approached, 
and instantly that critical young person’s fears 
were gone. No one could apply the terrible 
word “impossible” to Mrs. Davidson. 

“Distinguished-looking,” thought Joyce as 
she answered Mrs. Davidson’s greetings; “and 
nice eyes and voice — a beautiful voice.” 

Mrs. Davidson introduced Christine, fair and 
blue-eyed like her mother, and Peggy, a long- 
legged, brown-eyed eight-year-old. Dicky, she 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 17 


explained, was seeing the baggageman about 
the transfer of a piece of luggage which had 
not been checked through the night before. 

44 Dicky?” said Colonel Hamilton, looking 
puzzled. 44 1 thought Andrew was the elder 
boy.” 

44 So he is,” answered Mrs. Davidson, smil¬ 
ing. “Drew and his father went up to camp a 
week ago to finish some building operations 
they had on hand, and Richard is our escort. 
Oh, no, please don’t help him,” interpreting 
the Colonel’s hasty movement. 44 He can 
manage perfectly, I’m sure; there he comes 
now,” as a small boy rushed down the plat¬ 
form. Dicky shook hands, and then looked 
eagerly and inquiringly at his mother. 

44 Dicky was very much disappointed that 
you and Joyce were not able to spend last 
night with us, and I promised to ask you if he 
might ask you two or three questions about 
your flying experiences in France.” 

44 As many as he likes,” was the prompt 
reply. 

44 Oh, please, no.” Mrs. Davidson put up a 
protesting hand. “I have several questions, 
myself. Just a couple of minutes, Dicky; we 
mustn’t tax the Colonel’s patience. ’ 


18 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Dicky drew a long breath, and began at 
once: “Were you ever upside down while you 
were up in a flying-machine? What did it feel 
like? How many did you shoot? How many 
guns did your machine carry? How —?” 

Meanwhile Joyce and Christine were taking 
stock of each other. 

“Um-m — yes — nice—” Joyce was think¬ 
ing, making use again of that long-suffering 
word. “Yes, very nice,” as Christine sud¬ 
denly smiled a delicious smile which involved 
dimples in her cheeks, wrinkles on her nose, 
and crinkles at the corners of her mouth. 

“Goody,” Christine was saying to herself. 
“She’s perfectly lovely to look at — I adore 
auburn hair — I’m sure she must be a dear — 
I’m going to love her.” 

Aloud she said politely, if conventionally, 
“I hope you had a pleasant journey.” 

“Very,” said Joyce, just as politely. 
“Daddy had to see a friend of his in Buffalo 
on some business matter, so we managed to 
steal a couple of hours for the Falls, and got in 
here too late last night to do anything but go 
straight to the hotel.” 

“Aren’t you just in love with Niagara?” 
asked Christine. “I’m longing to see the Falls 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 19 


again. I haven’t been for nearly two years 
now. I wonder if they will seem as tremendous 
as they did last time. And I’m crazy to get 
back to Ken-jockety — that’s the name of 
our camp — it means 4 far from the madding 
crowd’ — don’t you think it sounds jolly? 
And now it’s going to be jollier than ever —■ 
having you, I mean. We were in England last 
summer, and it was lovely, of course — but not 
a bit like Georgian Bay. Have you ever been 
up the lakes before? Aren’t you awfully ex¬ 
cited about it? I do wish the train were made 
up so we could get settled. Have you —? All 
right, Mummy, I won’t talk so much. You 
see, Joyce, I talk an awful lot — I mean a 
great deal — but one can’t help being fright¬ 
fully excited the first day of going to camp.” 

Christine might be garrulous, thought Joyce, 
but there was no resisting the sunny friend¬ 
liness of her smile, and the two girls were soon 
chatting happily as if they had known each 
other for months instead of minutes. 

Dicky, who had been talking to the con¬ 
ductor, interrupted them to say, with an air of 
dignity and responsibility that was oddly at 
variance with his freckled face and impudent 
little nose, 44 You’d better get in now, girls; 


20 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


that’s the train on track five; the conductor’s 
going to call, ‘All aboard,’ right away, and 
then everybody will be rushing for seats.” 

“Girls!” thought Joyce in amusement. 
“ How old can he be? — nine or ten, I expect.” 

Colonel Hamilton and Mrs. Davidson were 
already moving in the direction of track five, 
but were evidently still absorbed in their low- 
toned conversation. 

Christine and the children got into the train 
first. Joyce was told to wait outside until the 
Colonel had settled Mrs. Davidson comfort¬ 
ably, and then he would rejoin her for a last 
few minutes. 

Joyce could see that her father was happy 
when he came back. 

“Joy, dear,” he said, “you can’t realize yet 
just how lucky you are to have the chance to 
be with the Davidsons this summer. But I’m 
glad for you, now — and you will be, later. 
I’ve told Mrs. Davidson that I’ll send up a 
canoe for your use — it won’t take you long to 
learn to handle one — and, as for the sailing, 
she says that her husband and Drew will 
gladly teach you, and then — we’ll see what 
we’ll see. Good-bye, my dear, I am leaving 
you in good hands.” 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 21 


Joyce waved to him smilingly as the train 
moved off. Dear Daddy Jerry! What a king 
he looked among the other men on the plat¬ 
form! But when she turned to rejoin the 
Davidsons, the smile was gone. Two months 
with people she had never seen before! She 
frowned, then gave herself a little shake. 
“Remember,” she told herself as she took her 
place beside Christine, who was still talking 
continuously, “ this is to be an adventure, and, 
so far, the compagnons de voyage look interest¬ 
ing.” 

Mrs. Davidson gave her a friendly smile, 
asked if she had something interesting to read, 
and then buried herself in the morning paper. 

Dicky and Peggy, who each had been sup¬ 
plied with a book for the journey, also began 
to read at once, and Christine’s head was bent 
over a little piece of paper on which she was 
figuring. 

Joyce looked idly out of the window as the 
train left the unlovely city environs behind. 

“Why are the outskirts of cities always so 
ugly?” she thought. “The lake is beautiful — 
almost like our own sea — but not so much 
green in the water. I wonder what Eve 
Hinkley and Piggy are doing? They must just 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


have arrived at the Bay. I wish I’d seen 
Piggy’s new car.” 

It was some days before Joyce had time to 
think of them again. 

“Sixty-nine cents,” Christine was murmur¬ 
ing absorbedly. “ Seven dollars and sixty- 
nine cents; it can’t be right. Now what did 
I pay for butter? The lettuce was twenty- 
five —” 

She looked up and caught Joyce’s eye. 

“I’ll be through with this in a minute,” she 
announced; “at least, I hope I shall. It’s 
awfully important to start right, isn’t it?” 

She figured industriously a few moments, 
frowned anxiously, consulted the change in her 
purse, and sucked her pencil thoughtfully. 

“Did you remember the nickel I borrowed 
from you?” inquired Peggy gravely. 

“Ah, that’s it,” said Christine with satis¬ 
faction. “Loaned Peggy, five cents; balance, 
seven dollars and sixty-nine cents — and here 
they are exactly. Doesn’t it give you a thrill, 
a real thrill, to have a balance come out right? ” 
— This to Joyce. 

“I hate keeping accounts,” said Joyce, “so 
I never do. Daddy started me once with a little 
red book years ago, but it was a bore. Cousin 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 23 

Edith always paid our bills, and gave me my 
allowance.” 

“I don’t like it either,” confessed Christine; 
“but that’s why I have a thrill when it 
comes out right. I must tell you about our plan 
for this summer’s housekeeping. You see, I’ve 
always helped Mother a little, dried dishes, and 
dusted, and done some of the mending; but 
I’m not a bit tidy or methodical — you might 
as well know my faults right now — and I 
don’t like housework, anyway, and I just 
groaned when I found Lisette couldn’t come 
with us this year at all — she lives at home and 
helps us — so Mother set her wits to work and 
thought up a beautiful plan. I’m to be in 
charge of the housekeeping.” Christine’s tones 
were impressive. “I’m to order what I like, 
and cook what I like, and that’s all I’ll have to 
do. Mother is going to see to the rest, and do 
my sewing for next year. Don’t you think 
that’s a fine idea?” 

“Well —” began Joyce doubtfully; but she 
was spared the necessity of choosing between 
the truth and politeness, for Christine’s atten¬ 
tion was distracted from her by the approach 
of two boys who seemed to be on friendly 
terms with the whole family judging by the 
warm reception they received. 


24 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“Had an idea you’d be on to-day,” beamed 
the taller, who was introduced as “Hugh Daw¬ 
son, one of our neighbors at camp.” 

“Drew gave us a tip,” explained the younger 
brother Noel. “Wish we could have gotten 
away earlier. Drew has all the luck. I bet the 
fishing has been great.” 

“Drew’s been busy,” explained Christine. 
“He and Daddy are building a little chalet for 
Joyce and me. We were going to have one 
some time and this seemed to be a good sum¬ 
mer. It’s to be down by the sandy cove — 
I’m just crazy to see it. Hugh, did you know 
that Judy Benson is to be up this summer? 
We expect them in a couple of weeks.” 

“Good,” said Hugh heartily. “Glad to see 
Judy again; they haven’t been up for two 
years, have they? The Adamses are back in 
our coach, and the Captain’s talking about 
giving a cup as well as the Cock-o’-the-Walk 
flag to the winner of the dinghy races. Bet you 
a fish-hook, Dicky, that I wipe old Drew off 
the map — here, don’t get excited, young ’un. 
Bless my soul, here are Charley and Alison 
now.” 

Joyce was introduced to two merry-looking 
girls who were full of a scheme to make a 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 25 


badminton court on their island, and who im¬ 
mediately invited the party to a bee next week 
to carry stones. 

“Sorry, Charlotte,” said Hugh; “I’d like to 
oblige you, but my heart won’t permit any¬ 
thing violent like stone-breaking.” 

“Too bad,” said Charlotte with a twinkle, 
“and just when we were planning some tour¬ 
naments. It’s a shame you can’t play.” 

“Touche!” said Hugh, joining in the laugh. 
“When is this convict party to be, and I’ll 
order a striped dress-suit for the occasion?” 

Not very witty nor yet particularly humor¬ 
ous, but this sort of jesting seemed to give 
them all innumerable occasions for laughter. 

When Allandale was reached, every one 
hurried out for a breath of fresh air, for the 
car had been very hot during the last half- 
hour. 

Joyce exclaimed over the beauty of Lake 
Simcoe, on whose curving shores the station 
was situated, but the others declared that 
scenery would wait — she was going to see 
plenty of it — but if they didn’t hurry, the 
famous Allandale doughnuts would be all 
gone. 

They hastened into the restaurant, which 


26 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


was unusually light and clean, had a little 
luncheon, and then adjourned to their car with 
bags of doughnuts and ice-cream cones. 

“I dream about Allandale Station during the 
winter,” said Hugh. “It’s the only place where 
I can get all the perfectly good doughnuts I 
want. Peggy, haven’t you got any? Good 
child; I was afraid I’d have to offer you one. 
I told an English chap who was taking a flying 
trip through here observing ‘Canadians and 
Their Ways’ about these bags of doughnuts, 
but he said it sounded ‘nasty.’ Just like that. 
And I’m wondering now about Miss Hamil¬ 
ton.” 

He gave Joyce a quizzical look. 

“You needn’t any longer,” said Joyce 
promptly. “They’re almost, but not quite as 
good as those we have at home.” 

Christine and Hugh chattered gayly. They 
didn’t seem to mind whether the others lis¬ 
tened or not; in fact they often talked at the 
same time. Any sort of nonsense was grist to 
Hugh’s mill. He was an extraordinarily hand¬ 
some youth, graceful and debonair in his man¬ 
ner, and always the center of the little group 
wherever he might be. Noel, who was much 
quieter and more reserved than his brother. 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY £7 


suffered somewhat from the inevitable con¬ 
trast, but, as Joyce learned, he did not by any 
means lack character, and could talk very in¬ 
terestingly if Hugh were not there. 

Listening to the talk of swimming parties, 
badminton tournaments, camping trips, and 
sailing matches, the gloom which was still at 
the bottom of Joyce’s heart began to melt 
away. 

“No riding, no motoring, no dancing!” she 
had said in dismay to her father. “What in 
the world am I going to do with myself! I’ll 
have to take to knitting to pass the time!” 

The gloom had deepened a little more when 
she heard that the Davidsons were to have no 
maid this summer, and that Professor David¬ 
son and Drew were building a chalet them¬ 
selves. It certainly didn’t sound like the sort 
of thing she had been accustomed to. Joyce 
was fastidious to the tips of her dainty fingers. 
Supposing things were really — rough! 

However, there was Christine, as nice as 
could be, and here were Charlotte and Alison, 
Hugh and Noel, also as nice as could be. 

Perhaps this was not only going to be an 
adventure, but an interesting and diverting 
adventure! 


28 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

The journey to Midland passed quickly, and 
the train ran down to the dock within a few 
feet of the steamer, so that Joyce had no time 
to see anything of the town except the big 
grain elevators at the harbor’s edge. 

Small boys, barefoot and sunburned, sur¬ 
rounded the travelers as soon as they de¬ 
scended from the train, each of them carry¬ 
ing one, or perhaps two, wooden cigar boxes 
which they waved persuasively in the faces of 
the men and boys, saying, “Fresh! Fresh! A 
dollar a box.” 

Joyce was astonished. Was this the way 
Canadians bought their cigars? 

Great was the merriment when she found 
that the boxes contained worms for bait, which 
cannot be obtained farther north in the rocky 
country around the Bay. 

Hugh and Noel, and even Dicky, were 
among the buyers. Worms, it seemed, were an 
inevitable purchase when one came down the 
Bay to Midland or Penetanguishene. 

Mrs. Davidson and Christine saw that some 
express parcels were on the dock as well as 
their luggage, and then the whole party went 
on board the Keewah. 

The children, who had been very quiet in 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY £9 

the train, being each immersed in story-books, 
now woke to sudden life. They rushed to the 
upper deck to pay a visit to the captain, who 
was an old friend of theirs, and down to the 
hold to the baggageman, who was another 
particular friend. 

The Keewah moved out into the beautiful 
harbor. On their right lay wharves, grain ele¬ 
vators, and green farm lands, on the left, high 
thickly wooded banks, and beyond, the rocky 
islands of the Georgian Bay. 

A flock of gulls that had been idling about at 
the entrance to the harbor, some wheeling and 
poising in mid-air, some sitting stolidly on the 
rocks which showed above the surface of the 
water, followed the Keewah, expecting as a 
matter of course to be fed with scraps of bread 
by the passengers and the cook. 

As the boat turned farther out into the bay, 
the rocky character of this region became more 
apparent. The Keewah, skillfully guided, pur¬ 
sued an intricate course between the islands, 
and the shoals and reefs below the surface. 

Joyce, unaccustomed to these waters, held 
her breath once or twice as the boat came 
within a foot or two of a sharp, cruel-looking 
reef. 


30 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“I never saw so much rock in my life be¬ 
fore,” she said laughingly to Mrs. Davidson 
beside whom she was sitting. “It seems as if 
the natural order of things was reversed — on 
that island, for instance, there are patches of 
land and the rest is all rock, and I’d expect to 
find an island made of land with some patches 
of rock on it.” 

She looked down through the water at a 
great reef which lay near a wharf at which 
they had stopped to deposit several passengers 
and the mail bags. 

“And as if there were another world down 
there,” she continued; “all made of lovely 
pinkish clean granite, and the hilltops formed 
these islands.” 

Mrs. Davidson looked thoughtfully at her 
new charge: evidently this was an observant 
young person. 

“You are almost exactly and scientifically 
right, my dear,” she answered, smiling. “We 
had a geologist in camp the last summer we 
were up here, and he told us that these islands 
are the tops of the most ancient mountains in 
the world, mountains made of granite scrubbed 
and rubbed for countless years by a great gla¬ 
cier which finally submerged them in a lake.” 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCICETY 31 


“Next stop is Wahnanee,” said Christine. 
“Oh, Mum, aren’t you excited? I’m just 
crazy to see everybody, and ’specially Dad 
and Drew, and the new chalet. I wonder if 
the little pine-trees we planted have grown, 
Peggy? Wouldn’t it be too dreadful if they 
were not at the dock to meet us?” 

“I think myself it would be rather dreadful 
if they were,” said Mrs. Davidson, twinkling 
at Joyce. “Imagine two little pine-trees com¬ 
ing down to the gangway! Much help they 
would be with the luggage.” 

This teasing was evidently lost on Christine, 
however, for she merely flashed a smile at her 
mother, ran with Peggy to the little ladder 
leading to the Captain’s bridge, where Dicky 
sat in proud seclusion, and asked if he could 
see any sign yet of Wahnanee. 

“Sure,” said Dicky. “I can see the Hunt- 
leys’ flag, but don’t come round here bothering 
us, Chris; we got to be quiet.” 

Not even that dampened Christine’s gayety! 

She was soon pointing out the opening to 
Wahnanee Bay into which the Keewah pres¬ 
ently turned, and then the various cottages 
placed at vantage-points which would give 
good harborage and fine views. There were 


32 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


about fifty of these little camps, Joyce learned, 
in the settlement. Ken-jockety, being one of 
the farthest away from the steamer’s route, 
was not yet visible. 

Dicky was shaken presently from his un¬ 
wonted quiet by the sight of his father and big 
brother waiting on the dock, and, with a loud 
war-whoop of greeting, came down to see to the 
hand baggage and resume his duties as escort 
to his mother. 

“They’ll be mighty glad to see some more 
bait,” was his matter-of-fact comment, as they 
stood ready for the gangway to be lowered. 

There was a crowd of people on the dock 
waiting for the boat and its passengers, but 
Christine had pointed out her father, and, 
from the look on his face as the travelers 
alighted and were welcomed, Joyce decided 
that he, at least, was glad to see “something 
else” besides bait. Her second impression of 
Professor Davidson was of the oldness and 
looseness and general oddness of his clothes, 
and then that, like his wife, he had a beautiful 
mellow voice. 

Drew, like his father, was in well-worn 
khaki, but there was an alertness in his car¬ 
riage and a distinction in the poise of his well- 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 33 


shaped head which caught Joyce’s attention, 
and, when his mother released him, and he 
turned to greet the newcomer, she saw that 
his eyes were more darkly blue than Chris¬ 
tine’s and that there was a haunting likeness 
between his fresh young face and her father’s 
treasured picture of his friend, Michael Law¬ 
rence. 

Then the whole party, with the exception of 
Dicky, managed to stow themselves into a 
diminutive motor-boat, which rejoiced in the 
descriptive name of “ Sputter,” and Dicky and 
the smaller pieces of luggage were packed into 
the rowboat attached to it by a towline. 

There was a waving of good-byes to the 
Dawsons and the Adamses, promises of meet¬ 
ings in the near future, a short trip past more 
pine-clad rocky islands, and then Joyce was 
following Christine up a steep path to a low 
weather-beaten bungalow, from whose flag¬ 
pole flew a huge Union Jack as a sign of 
welcome. 

The house at first sight seemed to be mostly 
veranda and living-room, but evidently there 
was a kitchen, for Christine said she would 
deposit her bundles there, and then take Joyce 
down to their new sleeping-quarters. But 


34 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


instead of reappearing instantly, Christine 
seemed to have found a treasure: there were 
shouts of joy and eager talking on the part of 
the family, and then finally a rather shame¬ 
faced Christine appeared. 

“ Awfully sorry, Joyce, but I forgot about 
you for the moment. Dad and Drew have 
built the loveliest bay window in the kitchen 
and new shelves and the cunningest new serv¬ 
ice window. I’ll show you them later. And 
now for the chalet. I’m sure you’re dying 
to wash and change. Drew has taken your 
bag down; the trunks will come over later 
this evening. Oh, I’m just crazy to see the 
chalet!” 

Christine ran the last few rods of the path 
which took a sudden turn in the pine-trees, 
and she disappeared from view. 

Joyce followed more slowly: in her mind were 
pictures of the quaint little chalets she had 
seen in Switzerland. A few more steps brought 
her to Christine, who stood with clasped 
hands gazing ecstatically at — was it a tent? 
— or what? 

“Oh, Drew!” Christine was saying. “It’s 
lovely — absolutely perfect! And you’ve got 
the awnings up, too. How ever did you man- 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 35 

age to get it finished? You and Dad must have 
worked like Trojans!” 

It was a tent — no, not a tent — for it had a 
floor and roof of wood. The sides were of mos¬ 
quito netting with blinds of green-and-white 
awning. It was bare of furniture, except for a 
couple of camp cots and chairs. 

Drew was evidently pleased with Christine’s 
praises, although, boy like, he tried to hide it. 

“ Haven’t had time to put up the screen 
door,” he said, “ but you can hang up a piece of 
netting until to-morrow, I expect. I fished out 
all the bathing-suits I could find; they’re up on 
the veranda; I should think you’d all be ready 
for a swim now.” 

“Thank you, Drew,” said Christine. “We 
surely are ready. What a mercy I bought 
bathing-caps the very last thing; I’ve three of 
’em in my bag. I’ll run up and get a couple of 
suits for us, Joyce.” 

Drew disappeared in the direction of the 
boat-house, and Joyce, flinging hat and coat 
down on the bed, sat down on the little chair to 
take stock of her surroundings. 

She looked up at the tent roof, at the un¬ 
covered rafters which held the framework to¬ 
gether, at the wire screening, at the pine-tree 


36 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


which grew so close that its fragrance filled 
the little room, at the two plain white cot beds 
and the bare pine floor, and then out through 
the doorway to the islands in the bay, and the 
far horizon of blue water. 

“Must be something like the sleeping- 
quarters at the camp that Eve Hinkley went 
to last year,” she thought. “ It smells nice and 
clean and ‘piney,’ and that view is wonderful.” 

She got up to look out at the bay, and just 
at that instant a brown bug, looking very 
much like a cockroach, fell from the rafter 
right on to her coat which lay on the bed. 

Joyce flicked it off with a slight shudder, and 
to her disgust noticed that two or three of the 
same family were running about near the door. 

“Good gracious!” she thought. “Nice and 
clean! The horrid things! Wouldn’t Cousin 
Edith have a fit!” At the thought of that 
immaculate lady safe in her luxurious room 
her niece grinned. Wouldn’t she hate this! 

Christine came running down the path, two 
bathing-suits over her arm and an old pair of 
rubber-soled tennis shoes in her hands. 

“Oh, it’s awfully nice finding you here,” she 
said, pulling the mosquito netting into place 
after she had entered. “I said to myself on 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 37 

the way down: ‘Now, Christine Davidson, 
you’ve probably just dreamed that you will 
find her at the chalet’ — and when I came in, 
there you were looking out at the bay. Isn’t 
it glorious? Wait till you see it in the early 
morning.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about scenery, but 
about — bugs,” Joyce said, and then laughed 
at Christine’s surprised look. “I’ve seen three 
of them; they look like cockroaches.” 

“Oh, those!” said Christine in a slightly 
contemptuous tone. “They’re only wood- 
bugs: they’re always in new lumber up here. I 
remember we had a dreadful time with them 
when we built the new kitchen. They’re clean, 
and don’t bite or anything. Oh, isn’t it 
gorgeous to get into a bathing-suit once more! 
Let’s hurry. I can hardly wait to feel the 
‘coolth’ of the water. Let’s dive off this rock; 
it’s deep just here, and we can swim around to 
the dock.” 

Joyce smiled her assent: one needn’t talk 
much when Christine was happy and excited. 
They plunged into the deliciously cool water 
which had a softness quite new to Joyce, and 
then swam around to join the others. 

Peggy and her mother were content to bathe 


38 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


near the shore in a shallow place, but Joyce 
had her turn with the others at the spring¬ 
board, and took one plunge after another until 
Mrs. Davidson called them to come in, saying 
that they must not stay too long the first day. 

A brisk rub-down and a change into a 
middy blouse of Christine’s was accompanied 
by a sharp sensation which Joyce had seldom 
felt of late. Why should she be so hungry? she 
asked herself. They had had luncheon on the 
journey and it could not yet be six o’clock. 

She helped Christine make up the beds, and 
was surprised at the number of blankets laid 
out for their use, but she was assured that the 
nights were usually cool. They then fastened 
the cotton netting securely around the door¬ 
way and went up to the bungalow. 

An appetizing odor greeted them as they 
passed the kitchen windows, and to her 
astonishment, as she followed Christine in¬ 
side, Joyce saw that Drew was cooking some¬ 
thing in a frying-pan over a wood fire, and 
that Dicky was seemingly his aide. 

“ Nothing for you to do to-night, Sis, except 
put away the supplies you brought up. This 
is a men’s dinner. Hi, there, Lee Fung Chow, 
look sharp with those potatoes.” 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 39 


“Me no savee,” grinned Dicky. “How can 
poor Chinee look sharp; the knife she sharp!” 

The big kitchen, the biggest Joyce had ever 
seen, was airy and cool with vistas of wood 
and water from the windows on each side 
Christine, busily putting away her lettuce and 
strawberries in the refrigerator on the veranda, 
and her other supplies in the big pantry which 
opened off the kitchen, kept up a running 
commentary of explanations liberally sprinkled 
with adjectives and adverbs of admiration — 
of how they got their water, and how useful 
the coal-oil stove and the fireless cooker were, 
and how wonderful this new baking-table was 
going to be. 

Joyce helped Dicky peel potatoes, and then 
placed forks and knives for Peggy, who was 
setting the table, and by the time the potatoes 
were soft and creamy and the fish crisp and 
brown, the whole family were ready and more 
than ready for supper. 

Supper was late according to camping hours, 
and must, Joyce thought, have tasted all the 
better for that reason. At least she gave her¬ 
self that excuse when she did not refuse a 
second helping of the delicious fish. 

Professor Davidson and Drew were kept 


40 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


busy answering the questions as to who were 
up in camp now, and who were expected soon, 
whether Comet was in good trim, and ihthe red 
canoe was painted yet. 

It was a merry meal, and, after the dishes 
were washed and put away, the trunks ar¬ 
rived in the caretaker’s big motor-launch, just 
in time to be unpacked before dark. 

“We don’t want to light a candle or lamp in 
the chalet to-night if we can help it,” said 
Christine as they got out knickers and middies 
for the morning’s wear. “The mosquitoes are 
always bad at the beginning of the season. 
We’ll have to hang our dresses over these 
rafters, I guess, and put up some hooks to¬ 
morrow. Then what do you say to bed?” 

Joyce acquiesced; she felt unaccountably 
sleepy. But after she was in bed a disturbing 
thought assailed her. What if one of those 
wood-bugs were to fall from the ceiling on to 
the bed again? She pulled the bedclothes a 
little more closely around her neck. 

“If you hear anything moving in the bushes, 
don’t be alarmed,” said Christine at that 
moment. “It’ll probably be just a skunk or a 
porcupine.” 

“A porcupine!” said Joyce, jumping up in 


INTRODUCES KEN-JOCKETY 41 

bed, not at all reassured by this piece of news 
supposed to be so comforting. “A porcu¬ 
pine!” 

She looked at the fragile bit of mosquito 
netting which, despite Christine’s efforts to pin 
it down tightly, still swayed a little in the 
breeze. 

“And what’s to prevent him walking right 
in — and — and throwing quills at us?” 

Joyce laughed a little as if it were perhaps a 
joke — but she wasn’t quite sure — 

Christine, however, laughed, as if she were 
quite sure that it was a joke. 

“He won’t come in,” she said confidently; 
“but, if he comes to the door and begins to 
throw quills in, I’ll waken you so you can see 
him. Funny how that story has followed poor 
harmless Mr. Porcupine, isn’t it? Why, here’s 
Mother come to tuck us up and I’ve pinned 
her out.” 

Christine was rapidly pulling out the pins as 
she spoke. 

“I suppose she’s going to say she hopes 
I’m happy and comfortable,” thought Joyce; 
“well, I’m not — not a bit — a porcupine or a 
skunk!” 

Mrs. Davidson was giving Christine a good- 


42 CAMP KEN-JOCICETY 

night kiss and hug. Then she crossed to Joyce’s 
bed. 

“There’s no moon to-night,” she said; “it’s 
cloudy just now and cool, so probably there 
won’t be any whip-poor-will to keep you 
awake — a sweet sleep and a joyous awaken¬ 
ing to you.” And her arms were around Joyce, 
and that young lady was being tucked up 
warmly and kissed with soft little kisses. 

Joyce lay awake for a few minutes trying to 
sort out the host of new impressions which the 
first day’s adventure had brought her. But 
she was too sleepy to keep her eyes open. 
“ How quiet everything is, how extraordinarily 
quiet,” she thought, and then — they must 
have been magical kisses — for, before she had 
begun to listen for crawling wood-bug, skunk, 
or porcupine, she was fast asleep dreaming 
of great white gulls sitting on the rocks and 
looking tame and friendly until she went near 
to pat them, when they suddenly began to 
shoot their feathers at her as if they were 
porcupine quills, and then, flying away, sang 
so like the veery she had heard with her father 
the day before, that her heart was filled with 
happiness. 


CHAPTER III 
NEW EXPERIENCES 

The sun was shining brightly next morning 
when Joyce opened her eyes, and Christine, 
who was already awake, gave a little chuckle 
when she saw the stare of astonishment with 
which Joyce looked through the mosquito 
netting up into pine branches and blue sky 
beyond. 

“ I was sure you’d forgotten where you were! 
Isn’t it a glorious morning — so nice and 
warm? I pulled the top blanket off you an 
hour or so ago — that’s the way with the 
nights up here; we’re cold when we go to bed 
and sweltering in the morning, unless some 
kind fairy like me adjusts the bedclothes. 
Wouldn’t you like to go for a dip in the lake? 
That’s the way we take our baths here. I hope 
you are sufficiently grateful for the way your 
hair curls. Mine just won’t. Here’s your 
bathing-cap. I do hope you’re going to like it 
up here. We’ll have lots of jolly times. Would 
you rather take a sponge bath in here?” 

Christine paused for breath, and Joyce 


44 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


smiled happily. 44 Do I have to answer all 
that?” she inquired. 44 Or may I just get up as 
an answer?” 

A few minutes later, the two girls were 
standing on the rocks, and Joyce was cau¬ 
tiously feeling the water with one foot. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” advised Christine. 
44 It’s always frightfully cold when it’s blue 
and beautiful and still. Let’s jump in when I 
count three. One, two —” 

44 Two and a half,” begged Joyce. 

44 Two and three quarters,” assented Chris¬ 
tine. 

44 Three!” And with a splash they were in! 
It was cold but, oh, how refreshing, and how 
good they felt after a brisk rub-down! 

44 Breakfast in half an hour,” said Christine, 
who was dressed first. 44 Would you like to 
survey the land while I make porridge and 
toast?” 

Joyce did not linger over her toilette nor did 
Christine’s suggestion attract her. There was 
a surprisingly empty feeling within her. Per¬ 
haps if she set the table, breakfast might 
be ready five minutes sooner. She followed 
Christine to the kitchen. 

44 Table’s set,” said Christine. 44 1 expect 











NEW EXPERIENCES 


45 


Peggy did it. I’ll see to the milk and toast and 
fruit, if you’ll make the porridge. The kettle’s 
boiling. We’ll have to choose a kind that 
needn’t boil long. I ought to have put some in 
the fireless last night. Here’s the cornmeal. 
Better make a lot. I wonder where those boys 
keep the big spoon?” 

But Joyce, usually so quick in all her 
movements, was standing looking almost help¬ 
lessly at the cornmeal and the porridge pot. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know how,” she said in 
rather a small voice. “Isn’t porridge very dif¬ 
ficult to make — without lumps, I mean?” 

Strange the little feeling of inferiority she 
felt as she watched Christine skillfully pouring 
in the yellow meal. Meanwhile she cut great 
piles of bread for toast, put it according to 
Christine’s directions in the oven to brown, and 
watched it anxiously. 

Christine worked swiftly, and breakfast was 
soon ready. 

“There! I don’t believe there are any lumps 
in this,” she said. “I hope you like cornmeal.” 

“I never eat porridge,” said Joyce firmly. 
“In fact, I eat very little breakfast and often 
none at all.” And then she added hastily, 
“But I’m very hungry this morning.” 


46 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Christine opened her eyes widely at this. 
“No breakfast! How dreadful! I’m always 
hungry — but especially in camp. ’Morning, 
Peggy darling! Put on the milk, like a good 
child, and then ring the bell. Joyce has made 
the toast and we’re all ready.” 

“Did you have a good sleep?” asked Mrs. 
Davidson, coming out to the veranda where 
the table was laid. “We usually put that 
question to newcomers to the camp on the first 
morning after their arrival, and then never 
again. Every one sleeps soundly up here.” 

Professor Davidson served the porridge, 
and Joyce did not refuse her blue bowl; she had 
a certain curiosity about that cornmeal, and 
she assuredly was hungry. Anything would 
taste good. It was not until she was wondering 
whether she might have a third piece of toast 
that she remembered her remarks about her 
poor appetite. But no one paid any attention 
to her third piece of toast: plans for the day 
were being busily discussed. 

“We’ll settle the storeroom this morning, 
Christine,” said Mrs. Davidson; “and perhaps 
I’d better make a dessert for dinner with the 
fire that’s going now —” 

“Mother,” said Christine impressively, “am 


NEW EXPERIENCES 


47 


I, or am I not, the housekeeper? Peggy, will 
you please take Mother away — take her over 
to see Mrs. Morton or some place — I can’t 
be interfered with like this, and I’d better put 
my foot down at the beginning.” 

There was a laugh at Mrs. Davidson’s 
expense, but the look of absolute understand¬ 
ing and love that passed between mother and 
daughter made Joyce feel suddenly lonely and 
homesick. 

“You’re forgetting that there are trunks to 
unpack, patches to put in the wire netting, and 
covers to put on the sofa cushions,” Mrs. 
Davidson said. “ I may not be allowed to cook, 
but—” 

“Oh, Mummy!” called Peggy, who had 
already left the table. “Let’s go down and see 
how my iris bed is doing — right now before 
we do the dishes or anything.” 

“That’s a good idea,” said her mother cheer¬ 
fully. “Irises will give us a good start for the 
day. Bring a basket and the kitchen scissors, 
Dicky, son, and we’ll bring some home.” 

Joyce stood for a few minutes on the ve¬ 
randa of the main bungalow and looked about 
her more closely than she had yet had a chance 
to do. 


48 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


The bungalow was covered with shingles 
which had weathered to a beautiful grayish- 
brown tone that harmonized perfectly with 
the rocks and trees. From a high central peak 
the roof sloped out, forming generously wide 
verandas on all four sides. The most sheltered 
corner, easy of access from the kitchen, was 
used as a dining-room, and here was a long 
table with benches and chairs of pine stained 
green. The living-room had doors on three 
sides opening on to the veranda, and many 
windows, so that on stormy days the room was 
cheerful. Opening off the living-room were 
three bedrooms, and the kitchen. The veran¬ 
das were screened with wire netting, and the 
furniture was of the simplest variety. 

Joyce, accustomed to the luxury and beauty 
of the seashore hotels where she had spent her 
holidays heretofore, thought the rooms bare 
and queer-looking. 

"It’s plain and strange,” she said to herself, 
as she went down to the chalet, “but interest¬ 
ing. I never saw such clothes in my life — but 
they apparently don’t matter here. I’m glad 
I put in that khaki knicker suit. Drew looks 
nice in spite of his perfectly dreadful clothes. 
I wonder what Piggy or Bill Ogden would look 


NEW EXPERIENCES 49 

like in them? Christine is a lamb. How she 
does talk!” 

By this time Joyce was down at the chalet 
again. She made her bed, and then decided 
that she’d better do Christine’s, since that 
busy young person had not put in an appear¬ 
ance. She gazed again at the bare walls. 
Wherever was she to put her clothes? Then 
she saw what she had not noticed before, that 
the east wall was of wood right up to the ceil¬ 
ing, and that there was a piece of board at a 
convenient height for hooks. In fact, there 
were two of those useful articles already in 
place on Christine’s side of the room. 

Just at that moment Dicky appeared whis¬ 
tling loudly. 

“Mother says, here are some hooks to go 
up for your clothes ’n’ here’s the hammer ’n’ 
some oilcloth ’n’ Christine is coming down 
presently ’n’ I’m to put up the hooks for you if 
you want me to.” 

Dicky’s insinuation was very plain. Evi¬ 
dently he had other things on hand more 
interesting than hooks. 

“Don’t wait,” said Joyce promptly. “Just 
leave them there. I’ll put them up.” 

Dicky took her at her word and vanished. 


50 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Joyce lifted the hammer and a hook and 
regarded them earnestly. It seemed silly, but 
never to her remembrance had she hammered 
anything. Why should she? There had never 
been any nails to hammer in the various hotels 
and apartments in which she had lived. 

“A nail, of course, would be very simple,’’ 
mused Joyce, looking doubtfully at the hook, 
“but this thing curves. I don’t see where —” 

The hook did curve, and Joyce’s fingers 
received more than their share of the first 
taps she administered gingerly to its curving 
surface. But when finally she discovered its 
screw, and hit upon the brilliant scheme of 
making a start by hammering a plain nail in a 
little way, and then pulling it out and screwing 
the hook in its place, she was filled with an im¬ 
mense pride, and immediately hung up her 
dressing-gown to see how it would look in its 
new quarters. When eight of the big hooks had 
been painfully and slowly screwed into place, 
Joyce stopped to suck her thumbs and reflect 
upon her achievement. For it was an achieve¬ 
ment. 

“Good work,” said Christine, appearing 
suddenly with two pieces of fresh gingerbread 
and two small tin pails. 


NEW EXPERIENCES 


51 


“Got your hooks up, I see” — casually, just 
like that, as if hooks were not hard to put up! 
“Aren’t you hungry, and don’t you want to go 
berrying? Drew says the patch behind the ice¬ 
house is just asking to be picked, and I’m 
counting on them for dessert.” 

Joyce was hungry, although it seemed odd to 
be hungry so soon again. The gingerbread was 
eaten and praised. 

“Put on a hat, and here’s some mosquito oil 
for your neck and hands,” cautioned Christine. 
“The little wretches will be bad down there.” 

“Then we’d better not go,” Joyce almost 
said, but she checked herself in time. It would 
be dreadful not to have any dessert, if every 
one was going to be as hungry for dinner as 
she had been for breakfast. 

The blueberries in the patch behind the ice¬ 
house grew in thick grape-like clusters, and 
they tasted almost as good as they looked. 
The two girls worked quickly, for the mos¬ 
quitoes were bad, and it seemed to Joyce that 
by the time she killed one, three more were 
ready to take its place. She was glad when 
Drew stopped on his way up to the cottage 
and agreed to help fill the pails, if Christine 
would promise to make a blueberry pie. 


52 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“No time for a pie to-day, but come and 
help; it’s nearly lunch-time. What a beauty! 
They do taste good; don’t you just love them, 
Joyce?” 

“Well,” laughed Joyce, “they’re good, cer¬ 
tainly. I never saw such berries before, so 
blue, almost like the sky and the water. And I 
suppose one reason they taste so good is that 
I never ate them fresh off the bushes before.” 

“Never went berry-picking!” said Christine 
in obvious astonishment. “I am sorry for you. 
There, that’s enough for to-day. I want to 
have the meals ready on time.” 

Joyce was amazed at the appetite she 
brought to the luncheon-table. Indeed, she 
was ready and waiting on the dining-room 
veranda before Christine rang the bell. The 
long table, with its well-arranged center-piece 
of irises in an Indian basket, looked very 
attractive. Joyce had already noticed that, 
although the covering was of oilcloth, the 
cutlery of a nondescript camping variety, and 
the dishes of the simplest ware, the table was 
daintily and carefully arranged, and the table 
manners left nothing to be desired. 

“Please ring the bell,” called Christine from 
the kitchen. “That gives them five minutes 


NEW EXPERIENCES 


53 


for hand-washing. I hope nobody will be late, 
for everything is nice and hot now.” 

But apparently people were not apt to be 
late at Ken-jockety. Dicky appeared almost 
before the bell had ceased, and Peggy was a 
close second. 

Every one had been busy all morning, and 
every one had something interesting to tell: 
Peggy had discovered a family of minks down 
near the boat-house; Dicky had found three 
wasps’ nests in the stockade; a humming-bird 
had alighted on a wild-rosebush near which 
Professor Davidson had been working; Drew 
had seen Hugh go skimming past in the Gull; 
Christine was sure that the same pair of cedar 
waxwings were nesting near the poplars. 

“Who remembers the dish-washing drill?” 
inquired Professor Davidson, when even Dicky 
could eat no more blueberry and orange salad, 
and the cook had been complimented on her 
success. 

“Dish-washing drill?” said Peggy, in puz¬ 
zled tones. “I don’t think —” 

“’Course not; you were too little,” said 
Dicky scornfully. “I do. The cook puts the 
food away: first-chief-washer gathers silver and 
begins to wash at once; other people wipe their 


54 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


plates with their paper napkins — watch me. 
Peg, — one, two — there you are!” 

The dishes were washed outside on the 
veranda, and passed in through the new serv¬ 
ice window, and, before Joyce could believe 
it possible, the kitchen was tidy, the dishes 
put away, and the floor swept. Then every 
one gravitated toward a shady corner of the 
veranda] where a couple of hammocks were 
slung. 

Mrs. Davidson lay down in one, and Chris¬ 
tine invited Joyce to share the other. Profes¬ 
sor Davidson installed himself in a big wicker 
chair, and pulled a book out of his pocket. 

What are we going to read this year. 
Daddy?” asked Peggy. 

Treasure Island,’” said Dicky firmly. 

“Oh, not that old thing again,” protested 
Drew. “Let’s have some Kipling, Dad. Hugh 
says ‘Kim’ is great.” 

“I’d like short stories, me,” said Christine. 

“You’ll each have to have a turn, though 
half an hour a day is a short time in which to 
suit everybody’s taste. We’ve got ‘Kim,’ and 
I think we’ll enjoy that. I was thinking that 
we might read a little Parkman this summer 
out of compliment to our guest — ” Professor 


NEW EXPERIENCES 


55 


Davidson smiled in Joyce’s direction — “and 
perhaps we could introduce her to some of our 
poets.” 

He turned over the leaves of a slender little 
gray volume. 

“It’s Miss Pickthall’s ‘ Poems,’ ” said Chris¬ 
tine joyfully. “Oh, do, please, read that short 
one with ‘the blue ways of the islands’ in 
it.” 

“Oh, Christine,” said her father, “won’t 
you try to begin a sentence without that 
explosive ‘Oh’? And you’ll frighten Joyce if 
you talk so much on her first day.” 

“Sorry, Daddy,” said Christine, “but oh, I 
have so many things to say!” 

“What a bore,” thought Joyce. “Poetry 
and history — ugh — I thought this was sup¬ 
posed to be holiday time — sounds like a school 
programme. Well, at any rate, half an hour 
isn’t very long and I needn’t listen.” 

But she did listen; every one listened when 
Professor Davidson read, for he possessed that 
rarest of gifts, a beautiful mellow speaking 
voice. Joyce had never realized that reading 
aloud could be so much like music. 

He settled Peggy more comfortably on his 
knee and began: 


56 CAMP KEN-JOCICETY 

“O, the gray rocks of the islands and the hemlock green 
above them, 

The foam beneath the wild rose bloom, the star above 
the shoal; 

When I am old and weary I’ll wake my heart to love 
them, 

For the blue ways of the islands are wound about my 
soul.” 

Then followed “The Child’s Song of Christ¬ 
mas” for Peggy, and “The Little Sister of the 
Prophet” for Christine. Mrs. Davidson asked 
for a “Song of Late September” and “Dawn,” 
and the reading ended with the lovely liquid 
music of “The Pool.” 

Joyce, to her own surprise, found the read¬ 
ing all too short, but for one listener at least 
the combined charm of reader and poet had 
performed no magic. No sooner had his father 
closed the book than Dicky bounded to his 
feet with a very good imitation of an Indian 
war-whoop. Clearly poetry bored Dicky. 

Drew seemed to be asleep, lying full length 
on the floor, but at the sound of Dicky’s joy¬ 
ous whoop he turned over on one elbow and 
looked thoughtfully at the slight movement in 
the tree-tops, and then out at the ripples on the 
water. 

“Nice little breeze coming up,” he an- 


NEW EXPERIENCES 


57 


nounced. “I want to borrow a tool from Cap¬ 
tain Adams. Any person here who would like 
to come with me in Comet?” 

“Me!” shouted Christine and Joyce and 
Peggy and Dicky with surprising unanimity. 

“Not that I have a ghost of a notion as to 
what or who Comet is, but it sounds swifter 
than a canoe,” said Joyce, laughing. “And 
if there’s anything I like in this world, it’s 
speed.” 

Drew grinned appreciatively. 

“I’d like to take you out to the Giant’s 
Tomb after a three days’ blow,” he said. 
“Then Comet might have a chance, perhaps, 
to live up to her name. I’ll go down now and 
get her ready. Would you like to go, Mother? ” 

“No, thank you, dear. How would it be if 
Joyce and Christine were to go this time? 
Perhaps, Dicky, you’d take Peggy and me 
around to the lagoon. I think I saw some 
water-lilies there.” 

“Sure,” said Dicky, torn between two emo¬ 
tions, for he loved to take his mother canoeing. 

“Goody!” said Christine. “We’ll be ready 
in two minutes, Drew.” 

Comet proved to be a trim little fourteen- 
foot dinghy, ready for her summer’s work in a 


58 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


new dress of gleaming varnish. So this was to 
be a new experience for Joyce, and she loved 
new experiences! 

She felt a strange awkwardness as she obe¬ 
diently jumped down into Comet after Chris¬ 
tine. Where was she to sit? 

Drew was looking at the little ripples on the 
top of the water with a practiced eye. 

“ Joyce there, Christine here,” he said. 
“Watch for the boom at ‘Ready about,’ Joyce, 
please; you won’t have to shift your position 
much; Christine will do the jumping about to¬ 
day— what there is to be done. This little 
whisper of air can hardly be called a breeze: 
but it’s going to get louder before we come 
back.” 

As they pushed off from the dock, Drew 
pulled in the sail, adjusted the tiller, and away 
they slipped as the despised little breeze caught 
the sail. 

Joyce turned sparkling eyes toward Chris¬ 
tine. “Isn’t it a delightful motion!” she said. 
“I’d no idea such a little wind would carry us 
along like this. I feel as if I were on the back 
of some big bird!” 

She watched Drew making straight for a 
group of rocks near Boschink, the smooth. 


NEW EXPERIENCES 


59 


sleek-looking rounded tops of which had 
earned them the appropriate name of the 
“ Whalebacks.” Was Drew watching? Were 
they going to crash on the rocks? 

She didn’t move — not an eyelash, de¬ 
cided Drew, who was watching her and teas¬ 
ing her by going very close, indeed — but 
when the command came, 4 4 Ready about,” 
and Comet was heading for Gull Island, she 
experienced an enormous relief. 

She watched with keenly observant eyes 
Drew’s skill in tacking again (she was adding 
to her vocabulary!) at Gull Island, his making 
the most of every little gust of wind that came 
down the channels, and finally his neat landing 
at the Adams’s dock. 

He refused to let them land: he wanted to 
get back to his work, for he was putting a 
patch in the row-boat, and he knew that, if 
Christine were once to begin talking to Char¬ 
lotte and Alison, he would have hard work 
getting her away again. So he ran over to the 
old boat-house where the Captain kept his 
tools, fortunately found both the tool and its 
owner there, and was back in a couple of min¬ 
utes. 

The journey home was speedier, for the 


60 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

wind had freshened according to Drew’s 
prophecy. 

“Pretty good behavior for the first time out 
in a sail-boat,” said Drew with a twinkle, as 
they climbed out on to Ken-jockety’s dock. 

“Not the first time, really,” Joyce said, her 
eyes still sparkling, her cheeks rosed with 
excitement and the breeze, “but the first for 
years and years. Oh, when can I learn to sail 
myself! Daddy said Uncle Graeme was going 
to be good enough to teach me. He said when 
I had learned, ‘we’d see.’ Do you suppose he 
meant that I might have a boat of my own?” 

“Perhaps he means to give you one another 
summer,” said Christine practically. “You 
won’t need one this. It would be lovely to 
have one of one’s very own. I’d call it — let 
me see — the Black Swan, or something like 
that. Let’s think of a nice romantic name. 
I think names are the most thrilling things! 
Now, as soon as I heard that your name 
was Joyce, I just knew we’d be friends. I 
adore short names; they’re so chic and 
quaint and —” 

“Go away, go away,” said Drew, putting 
his hands over his ears. “I can’t stand any 
more just now. I think you ought to know, 


NEW EXPERIENCES 61 

Joyce, that my fluent sister won’t be so bad 
after a while, for we’re going to have a fines- 
box, and as she’s almost as keen about ice¬ 
cream cones as she is about adjectives and 
superlatives — ’nuff said.” 

Christine smiled happily; evidently teasing 
did not ruffle her feelings one whit. 

Joyce went up the path toward the chalet. 

“Drew, don’t you think she’s perfectly 
adorable?” Christine asked. 

“Pretty fair,” said Drew. “Here, give me a 
hand with this sail, Sis — it’s a caution the 
way these things tangle.” 

“I hope she’s going to be happy here,” 
continued Christine in no wise depressed by 
Drew’s lack of enthusiasm. “ It isn’t a bit what 
she’s been used to, you know. I asked her 
where she went in the summer, and she said 
she usually spent the holidays at the sea with 
her Cousin Edith, and they lived at a big 
country club, with colored servants and every¬ 
thing.” 

“Well, she’s got to do without colored, and 
every other kind of servants up here,” said 
Drew, rather dryly. “And if she doesn’t like it 
she can lump it, that’s all.” 

“Oh, Drew, don’t be so horrid! Of course 


62 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


she’s going to like it. Oh, dear, I must fly. I 
don’t want Mum to touch the blueberries and 
they must be done. You go down and talk to 
her while she sketches, like a dear.” 

Away went Christine. 

Drew grinned, but a few minutes later, he 
joined his mother, who was sketching on the 
other side of the study. 

“ Chris said I was to talk to you like-a-dear 
while you sketched, or talk like-a-dear while 
you sketched like-a-deer — no, I’m not sure 
just what she meant — at least, we can say 
that she probably meant well.” 

Mrs. Davidson smiled an answer. The 
friendship and perfect understanding between 
Drew and Christine was one of the joys of 
her life. 

“Did you have a nice sail?” she inquired, 
after a moment’s hard work on a refractory 
cloud. “Is Joyce going to enjoy Comet?” 

There was more in the question than ap¬ 
peared on the surface. 

“Oh, she’s a good sport all right, I guess,” 
Drew answered promptly. “She hadn’t been 
in a sail-boat since she was a baby, but you’d 
never have known it. She kept one eye glued 
on Chris and the other on me, and her ears 


NEW EXPERIENCES 63 

pointing forward to catch my slightest word of 
command.” 

“ She must have been interesting to look at,” 
said his mother with a smile. 

“You’ve said it,” commented Drew. “She’s 
a peach. I was afraid she might spoil things — 
the nice comfy homey feeling, you know — 
and if you’d asked my blessing on letting her 
come,” he confessed, “I’d have said ‘no.’ I 
don’t know yet that I approve of her being 
here all summer.” 

“ I’d have talked it over with you, Drew, if 
there had been time,” said Mrs. Davidson, 
“but there wasn’t. I was glad to invite her for 
her father’s sake, and I think , though I’m not 
certain , she’s going to fit in. If she doesn’t, 
and if she really wants to leave us, her father 
has said that she may go to her Cousin Edith 
at the end of a month. But he hopes, and I 
hope, that she’ll decide to stay. I hope it very 
much, Drew. I can’t give you the reasons.” 

“All right, Mum,” said Drew, giving his 
mother’s shoulder an awkward pat, and 
thereby spoiling the beautiful cloud which she 
had just completed to her satisfaction. “I’ll 
have an eye to her.” 

Joyce, meanwhile, tidied her wind-blown 


64 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


hair, changed for supper, and began a letter to 
her father. 

Her pen did not move very quickly: there 
was much to write about, but she had not 
had time to sort out her first impressions; the 
Davidsons were nice — yes, very — but it cer¬ 
tainly was all very strange and queer; she’d 
better write just a short note now and wait 
until she had taken stock of her new sur¬ 
roundings before writing fully; Christine was 
a love, and Peggy — that must be Peggy now 
out on the rocks there with Dicky — he was 
a funny little thing, though boys of that age 
were apt to be a nuisance. 

Joyce would have been considerably sur¬ 
prised had she heard the conversation of the 
last few minutes between Dicky and his sister. 

I can t quite decide whether she’s more like 
the Snow Queen or the youngest sister in that 
story — you know, the one where rubies and 
diamonds drop from her lips when she talks.” 

More like the wicked sister,” suggested 
Dicky, who was lying on the rocks, placing a 
little tree-toad on a green leaf and watching 
eagerly to see if it would change color like a 
chameleon. 

“She is not!" said Peggy indignantly. 


NEW EXPERIENCES 65 

“ She’d be like Cinderella at the ball if she were 
all dressed in glittering white.” 

44 Yah — never saw a princess with red hair, 
’n’ I bet she’s got a temper like — like fire,” 
said Dicky, who plainly refused to be enthusias¬ 
tic about the new arrival. 

“It isn’t red — there she is now,” said 
Peggy in a low tone, “and she looks perfectly 
beautiful” 

Joyce had finished her note and was coming 
out toward the children. 

Dicky was at the age when clean clothes 
and faces and hands are almost as repugnant 
to him on others as on himself, and Joyce’s 
immaculate appearance roused the dormant 
feeling; it pricked also a slumbering conscience, 
for he was not ready for supper, by no means 
ready; he was, in fact, exceedingly untidy, and 
dirty with grease from the boat, and he gloried 
in the fact. Toronto and clean collars lay only 
two days behind him. 

“Will these letters go out to-night after we 
mail them, Dicky?” asked Joyce. 

Dicky thought it a silly question; he stood 
up, put one hand to his lips and the other, 
curved like a speaking-trumpet, to his ear. 

“I asked what time does the mail go out?” 


66 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


repeated Joyce, raising her voice, although she 
was now quite close to him. 

Dicky opened his mouth, and, instead of the 
pearls and rubies of polite speech, something 
gray and green, cold and slimy and wet, 
jumped therefrom, landed on Joyce’s bare 
throat, and, finding it a warm and comfortable 
resting-place, attempted to snuggle down. 

It was certainly a day full of surprising ad¬ 
ventures for the little tree-toad, for no sooner 
had he sensed warmth and comfort, than he 
was hurled through space and landed with a 
splash in the deep water. His ears were deaf 
to the angry words that formed his requiem. 

“Here, give back that toad!” 
j “ How dare you! ” 

For an instant, while Peggy’s frightened 
heart beat one, two, the fairy princess might 
have been mistaken for a terrifying witch, or 
even that blood-curdling creature in Father’s 
book called a “Fury.” 

But it was evidently only a mistake, for a 
polite young lady was saying to Dicky that 
she hadn’t an idea that he wanted the little 
toad (the word was accompanied by a slight 
shudder); in fact, she thought he had thrown 
it away. 


67 


NEW EXPERIENCES 

And then the polite young lady had gone 
back into the chalet leaving Dicky, slightly 
abashed, but ready, nevertheless, to whisper 
triumphantly to Peggy — 

“ What’d I tell you — red and fiery!” 


CHAPTER IV 

A PICNIC AND A SAILING LESSON 

“Ever seen a heronry, Joy?” asked Christine 
as she poured ice-cold milk into the picnic 
thermos bottles. 

“Not that I know of,” laughed Joyce. “Is 
it a new sort of bug, or plant, or bird, or what? 
Bird, I guess. Chris, look at those dinghies out 
there! Don’t they look exactly like big white 
butterflies? Oh, I’m just crazy to sail! I’ve 
watched Drew, and I wouldn’t be a bit afraid 
to go alone.” 

“ Wouldn't you?” said Christine teasingly. 
“It’s not as easy as it looks, mon enfant. I was 
frightened to death the first time I tried it. 
Let me see, where were we? Oh, yes. You’re 
not being properly interested in the heronry. 
It’s a nesting-place for herons — dozens and 
dozens of them. You know Dicky is collecting 
photos of birds and birds’ nests this summer — 
he’s trying to beat his chum who is in Muskoka 

— so we are going to take our supper up there 

— to the heronry, I mean. I hope the Bensons 
come to-day. I’m simply dying to see Judy 


A PICNIC AND SAILING LESSON 69 


again. We were away, you know, last year, so 
it’s two years since I saw her: she was at York 
Hill last year in Toronto, you know —” 

“No, I don’t know,” said Joyce. “I fear 
that I look wiser than I am. There, do you 
think I’ve cut enough bread? Surely we can’t 
eat all that!” 

“ ’ Course we will — far more — I’ll help 
you. Why-ee — York Hill is a perfectly won¬ 
derful school where I’m going next year as a 
day girl. Judy Benson was there last year board¬ 
ing; she’s a sort of cousin of mine; Mother and 
her mother are cousins and were chums at 
school, and she’s perfectly lovely — tall, like 
you, only she’s dark—and she’s fearfully clever 
— oh, goodness me, Peggy, are they truly wait¬ 
ing for us? We’ll be finished in a jiffy.” 

A jiffy was certainly an optimistic descrip¬ 
tion of the final flurried ten minutes, but at 
last they were off. 

Christine and Drew made a splendid pair 
of paddlers, thought Joyce, lying at her ease 
against pillows and lazy-back, while the Veery 
skimmed lightly over the water. Colonel 
Hamilton had lost no time in sending up a 
canoe and Christine had named it the Veery 
after her favorite bird. 


70 


CAMP ICEN-JOCKETY 


“I feel utterly comfortable and horribly 
lazy,” she said as they neared the river. 
“Peggy has promised to take me out in the 
Veery to-morrow morning and put me through 
my paces, and I’ll come to you for the finer 
points, Chris; you do it beautifully.” 

“Oh, look, Drew,” said Christine, “there 
are Charlotte and Alison waving to us from 
their dock. Let’s go in for just a minute.” 

“Well,” said Drew, “no long gossip, re¬ 
member, for we ought not to keep the others 
waiting.” 

They did not have to go all the way to the 
dock, however, for the two girls jumped into 
their own canoe and met the Yeery halfway. 

“We were coming over this evening to in¬ 
vite you to a swimming party on Monday,” 
explained Charlotte, “and couldn’t resist the 
temptation to waylay you, since you were 
passing. Dad has put up a new spring-board 
on the south shore, and we want you all to 
come and try it on Monday morning — eleven 
sharp — beach luncheon to follow — K. and 
F., B. and B., s’il vous plait” 

“We’d love to, and, as far as I know, we 
can,” said Christine. “May I let you know 
after church to-morrow?” 


A PICNIC AND SAILING LESSON 71 

“Pm intrigued about K. and F., B. and B.,” 
said Joyce, after they had said good-bye and 
turned down the channel. “That is, if it isn’t 
a secret. It sounds like a secret society, in 
which case am I invited? Charlotte seemed to 
be including me.” 

Drew joined in Christine’s merry laugh. 

“Just a homely practical detail,” explained 
Christine. “You see, up here so many camps 
have picnic-meals with other camps, that the 
question of having enough bread and butter is 
a difficulty. One can usually produce enough 
pork and beans, or fruit, or fish, to meet any 
emergency, but bread and butter for an extra 
twenty is a serious matter. And so is cutlery. 
So we often take knife and fork (and a plate 
and a cup) and bread and butter for our own 
camp members if it’s a big party. I’m awfully 
glad Charlotte has asked us. We’re sure to 
have a good time.” 

An hour’s stiff paddling up the river brought 
them to the sequestered little lake, at one end 
of which, near a large marsh, was the heronry. 

The two canoes were close together as they 
skirted the reeds bordering the marshy piece of 
land, and Dicky, who was evidently excited 
and gloating over his triumph in getting such a 


72 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


picture before his rival collector, Ted Burton, 
was all for making a landing at once, but his 
mother was of a different opinion. Her plan 
was that they should all land on the high rock 
on the opposite side of the little bay where they 
would have supper later, and then those who 
wanted a closer view of the nests could return 
to the marsh; she and Peggy meant to pick 
berries. 

Drew and Christine elected to go with 
Dicky, but the others were content with a long¬ 
distance views of the nests, which seemed to be 
nothing but bundles of sticks placed uncom¬ 
fortably askew in the branches of a grove of 
pine-trees. 

“It doesn’t look a bit attractive,” said 
Joyce to Mrs. Davidson as the Veery pushed 
off. 

“It isn’t attractive,” said Mrs. Davidson. 
“All right, Peggy, I’ll come up in a minute. 
It’s very dirty under the trees, and the birds 
make a great noise. And” — she lowered her 
voice — “ there are apt to be snakes in the 
marsh. Peggy was once very badly frightened 
and bitten by a snake twining around her arm 
when she was a mere baby, and the sight of one 
now makes her feel quite ill, although she 


A PICNIC AND SAILING LESSON 73 


doesn’t know why. So we just avoid even the 
mention of them, when she is about.” 

“PH be very careful, Aunt Fran. I must 
say I sympathize with her. May I have a pail, 
too, for berries?” 

Joyce climbed the bank with Mrs. David¬ 
son and joined Peggy, who was already pick¬ 
ing blueberries and exclaiming at the size and 
abundance of them. Mrs. Davidson showed 
Joyce how best to strip the grape-like clusters, 
and then she moved off to another patch to 
which Peggy was urgently calling her. 

Left to herself, Joyce picked steadily enjoy¬ 
ing again the bloom and the color, the fra¬ 
grance and the taste of the blueberries, and, as 
she worked, her mind rested — oh, how de¬ 
lightfully! Little pictures of the last few days 
and happenings slid gently, almost impercep¬ 
tibly, into her conscious thought: a glimpse of 
the bathing-beach, the great pine-tree beside 
the bungalow, a snow-white gull balancing 
lazily against a dazzling blue sky, the rose- 
colored sail on an Indian’s boat, the dancing 
flames in the fireplace, Christine’s irresistible 
smile. 

Joyce didn’t trouble to think; she just let 
the pictures slip away again. But she was 


74 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


happy, curiously happy, so happy that, when 
Peggy presently joined her to say in her seri¬ 
ous earnest fashion, “ Mother says that you 
mustn’t tire yourself picking in the sun, and is 
there anything else you would like to do until 
the others come back?” — she was able to 
answer truthfully: “I’m perfectly happy here. 
I’ve got a beautiful patch, and my pail isn’t 
full yet. I’ll join you just as soon as it’s up to 
the brim with these beauties.” 

The bird-hunters came back very much 
pleased with themselves. Christine had picked 
up a quantity of feathers, a few of them really 
beautiful. Drew and Dicky had stalked several 
of the shy awkward birds and were convinced 
that they had secured some unique pictures. 
Dicky had even climbed a high pine in order to 
take a snap-shot of a nest in a neighboring tree. 

Joyce was first to leave the group at the 
water’s edge, and go back to the picnic-meal 
which Mrs. Davidson and Peggy had spread on 
a flat rock. 

Christine followed in a moment or two. 

“Shoo, shoo!” she heard Joyce say indig¬ 
nantly, and then in a louder more emphatic 
tone, “Scat you — shoo, shoo —” 

Then to her horror she saw Joyce attempt- 


A PICNIC AND SAILING LESSON 75 


ing to chase away a small black furry animal 
with two broad white stripes down his back. 

“He’s the most impertinent thing I ever 
saw,” cried Joyce as she caught sight of Chris¬ 
tine. “ I thought wild things were afraid of the 
human eye — here — shoo —” as the unwel¬ 
come visitor stepped nearer and sniffed at the 
milk-pail. 

“Hush, sssh,” breathed Christine in an 
agonized whisper. “ Sssh — let him alone — 
don’t move an eyelid — it’s a skunk — let 
him have it all — if only —!” 

It was a critical moment. 

Mr. Skunk had apparently not liked Joyce’s 
tone of voice, for he had erected his big beauti¬ 
ful plume-like tail — sure sign of probable 
catastrophe. 

The girls stood perfectly still. Joyce was 
almost frightened by the look of horror frozen 
on Christine’s face, and made no protest when 
the skunk, satisfied, apparently, by the effect 
he had produced, lowered his tail, sniffed at a 
plate of eggs and bacon, and, not finding it to 
his liking, turned and slowly walked away 
with the dignity of a conqueror, and the assur¬ 
ance of one who does not underestimate his 
own power. 


76 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Not until he had entirely disappeared into the 
underbrush would Christine permit a sound, 
and then of course every one talked at once, 
for the others had come up for supper. 

But Christine, as usual, had the last say. 

“You’re not thankful enough, Joyce,” she 
protested as Joyce began to butter her bread. 
“I believe you’re ready to grumble because 
your supper is cold, instead of being glad you’re 
alive, or, at least, that we don’t all hate the 
sight or the smell of you. We’d have had to 
burn all your clothes. I’ll never forget the 
time when Daddy got some on his clothes.” 

“ Oh, well, all’s well that ends well,” said Joyce 
lightly. “He’s a pretty little creature, isn’t he, 
with those lovely white stripes down his back, 
and I must say he doesn’t appear to be shy.” 

“He doesn’t need to be,” commented Pro¬ 
fessor Davidson dryly. “I believe everything 
in the woods will run from him. His oil bar¬ 
rage is something like the mustard gas the Ger¬ 
mans used in the war.” 

On the way home Christine was very much 
excited at the discovery of smoke coming 
from Boschink’s chimney, and wanted to go 
over at once and see Judy, but her mother 
thought she had better wait until the next day. 


A PICNIC AND SAILING LESSON 77 

As they left the sheltered channels and neared 
Ken-jockety, Joyce was surprised to see how 
the wind had risen, and how big the waves were 
in the open bay. 

Hugh and Noel waved to them as they raced 
by in their dinghy. 

Joyce’s eyes sparkled. 

“That’s what I’d like to do. I suppose it’s 
too rough for sailing.” 

“Not a bit,” said Drew promptly. 

“Oh, Mum, do let us,” implored Christine. 

“What do you think, Father?” asked Mrs. 
Davidson. 

“They’ll be all right, if Drew has the tiller,” 
said Professor Davidson; “as long as they keep 
in the inner bay, of course. In fact, if you go 
behind the Mortons’, Drew,” he added, turn¬ 
ing to his son and putting his arm around 
Christine who was trying to dance in the 
midst of some lines he had spread out on the 
dock, “you might give Joyce her first sailing 
lesson. You’re sure of comparatively quiet 
water there, with the wind in this direction.” 

“Better put on ‘oilies,’ Chris,” said Drew, as 
the two girls turned and raced off to get ready. 

“They’re splendid in rough water for throw¬ 
ing off the spray,” said Christine, fastening the 


78 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


queer helmet-shaped hat under Joyce’s chin. 
“Now, we’re ready for anything. Don't let me 
forget the mail-box key and the letter-bag.” 

Joyce jumped down into Comet. 

“Same place?” she inquired of Drew. 

“No,” he said. “You and Chris both on 
the top side. It will take all our weight to 
hold her down.” 

Away they flew as the wind caught and 
filled the sail, the dinghy at times standing 
almost up on one side. 

It was a miracle to Joyce how Drew man¬ 
aged to keep his course, and at the same time 
avoid the big waves which looked as if they 
would swallow up the light little dinghy. But 
instead of the waves breaking over the boat, 
in some magical way (so it seemed to Joyce) 
Comet managed to ride the waves as if she 
were their mistress. 

There was only a short stretch of rough 
water, but how Joyce loved every moment of 
it! She was ready for the Whalebacks this 
time, and Comet swung about in fine style. 

Away they went again, Joyce so happy that 
she had to sing. The wind carried away the 
song, but Christine looked at Drew as much 
as to say, “Didn’t I tell you? Isn’t she 


A PICNIC AND SAILING LESSON 79 


lovely?” and she seemed to be satisfied with 
his answer. 

Professor Davidson was right in his con¬ 
jecture — the water was comparatively quiet 
in the sheltered spot behind the Mortons’. 

Then began one of the most exciting half- 
hours in Joyce’s life. And she had not hereto¬ 
fore lacked thrills. 

It began with Drew’s quiet, matter-of-fact 
words, “Now, Joyce, you take her, and Chris, 
you be perfectly quiet, please.” 

Joyce eagerly grasped the tiller. Drew still 
held the sheet; they were going to do it to¬ 
gether. She had a naturally quick, alert mind, 
but she found that she needed all her wits, 
with wind and sail, boat and teacher, each de¬ 
manding her attention. 

But Drew was very patient. He took the 
trouble to answer even the most foolish ques¬ 
tions; showed her how to ride the waves by 
going up to meet them as they came and riding 
down with them; explained what a difference 
it made if even one person were to shift his 
weight in the boat, and how wonderfully sail 
and rudder worked together. 

Then she must learn the meaning of new 
words, understand what Drew meant when he 


80 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

said, “Keep her pointing just as high as she 
can,” “Spill a little wind,” “When you can’t 
hold her down any longer, come up into the 
wind a bit.” 

From the Mortons’ to the Big Dock and the 
post-office was not a very long distance, but 
Joyce’s heart had thumped so hard and often, 
her arm had pulled so (unnecessarily) hard at 
the sheet, that, when Drew proposed that he 
should take both sheet and tiller on the way 
home, Joyce was both reluctant and relieved. 
But she did not let her mind rest. Those spark¬ 
ling eyes under the snug-fitting cap’s brim 
were as keenly observant as ever; she didn’t 
miss a point in Drew’s skillful tacking on the 
way home, and when, on their arrival, he com¬ 
plimented her on the progress she had made in 
her first lesson, she was able to say in all hon¬ 
esty, “What a lot I have to learn!” 

“ Christine,” said Joyce solemnly as they un¬ 
dressed that night, “ I’ll never be happy again 
in this life until I can sail by myself. I’ll chop 
Uncle Graeme’s wood for him, and carry Drew’s 
ice, or do anything , if they’ll squeeze in some 
more lessons for me. Isn’t it just glorious /” 

“Yes,” said Christine, feeling for once that 
any adjective was unnecessary. “It is!” 


CHAPTER V 

"WHAT I HATE, THAT DO I” 

Next morning, Joyce, who was still appar¬ 
ently trying to make up all the lost sleep of the 
last month or two, awoke just as Christine was 
tiptoeing out of the chalet. “Had your dip?” 
she inquired sleepily. 

“Half an hour ago, my child,” said Chris¬ 
tine. “I meant to steal away and let you sleep 
on; don’t get up until you want to.” 

Joyce closed her eyes again: she was sleepy, 
and heretofore Sunday morning had always 
seemed a peculiarly appropriate time in which 
to make up for lost sleep. 

But she could not drift away into uncon¬ 
sciousness again. A friendly chipmunk was 
chattering on the roof; a warbler in the pine- 
tree suddenly trilled a postlude to the morn¬ 
ing anthems which Joyce had not been awake 
to hear; something alive and stirring in the 
very air crept into her consciousness. 

She jumped up and ran down to the bathing- 
beach. How deliciously cool and refreshing the 
water was! How good to be alive! 


82 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


"It’s too nice a morning to spend in church,” 
she remarked to Christine as she washed the 
dishes. "Does one have to go to church?” 

"No, of course not,” said Christine, looking 
surprised. "But you’ll be sorry if you don’t — 
Dr. Morton is going to take the service, and 
he’s a dear. I just love him. And we don’t 
have service in a church, you know, but in a 
lovely grove; everybody goes, but of course, if 
you’re tired?” 

"I’m not a bit tired,” said Joyce, "not a bit. 
In fact, I feel extraordinarily well. I’d like to 
race you around the island, and go for a sail in 
Comet and then do some aqua-planing stunts. 
Christine, we must rig up a board. I’d like to 
do something exciting, and church doesn’t 
sound that way. Besides, I hate going to 
church, don’t you?” 

"Why, no,” said Christine, again looking 
astonished. "I like it — especially up here. 
You’d better come and see — and Judy will be 
there.” 

Joyce suddenly felt cross. 

"Judy!” "Judy!” "Judy!” She didn’t 
want to see this paragon of Christine’s of whose 
very name she was tired, and she didn’t want to 
go to church—certainly not — of course Chris- 


WHAT I HATE, THAT DO I 83 

tine might like it — but she, Joyce, had long 
ago decided that all church-going was a bore. 
Christine was childish about some things, 
there was no doubt about that. 

Nevertheless, she went down to the chalet 
to get her hat, and on the way back met Dicky 
looking very unfamiliar in spotlessly white 
“longs,” shoes, and shirt. 

Joyce opened her lips to chaff him on his Sab¬ 
bath-like appearance, when suddenly, from the 
thick branches of the pine-tree just overhead, 
there came a shrill scream like the angry cry 
of some wild thing about to spring. It was so 
strange, so unlike anything she had ever heard 
before, that Joyce involuntarily put her hands 
up to ward off whatever might be coming. 

There was a stir in the branches and then 
silence. 

Joyce took two or three hurried steps away 
from the tree, and then turned a rather white 
questioning face toward Dicky. 

“We better run,” he whispered. “Sounded 
like a wild-cat, don’t you think?” 

“Yes,” said Joyce, who hadn’t a ghost of a 
notion as to what a wild-cat did sound like. 

At the dock she found the Bensons’ boat just 
pulling up alongside, and in the Babel of greet- 


84 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


ings and questions and answers, she had no op¬ 
portunity to tell her tale. 

In fact a lively curiosity concerning the 
much-talked-of Judith banished the remem¬ 
brance of the wild-cat’s scream for the time 
being. So this was Christine’s heroine! 

Joyce was prepared to be very critical, but 
she could discover little to find fault with at 
first glance. 

Judith was as tall and slim as she herself, her 
white skirt and blouse as trim and well-tailored 
as the most fastidious could demand, her 
carriage as graceful, her voice as well-modu¬ 
lated, and there was something in the frank, 
friendly gaze with which she looked at Joyce, 
as Christine introduced them, that seemed to 
disarm criticism. 

It appeared that they were all going in the 
Bensons’ big boat, Gray Goose, “For you 
know what Sputter is when you’re in clean 
white clothes,” laughed Christine. “Clean 
things must enrage her, for she always sput¬ 
ters and spits at the sight of them.” 

The motor in the Bensons’ boat was in the 
bow and covered by a hood, so that there was 
not the same danger of sputterings of grease, 
but something was rattling so that conversa- 


WHAT I HATE, THAT DO I 85 

tion could not become general. A short run 
brought them to the dock beside the grove 
where the service was to take place. 

Hugh Dawson helped them to land, greeted 
the ladies, and then said reproachfully in a 
piercing whisper: 

“I say, Christine, introduce me to that 
stunning young lady, ‘glass of fashion and 
mould of form’ — what? Direct from little 
old New York, I should say.” 

Hugh always reduced Christine to giggles. 

“You know perfectly well, Hugh, that it’s 
Judy, and she hasn’t changed a bit.” 

“My little friend, Judy, that sweet child!” 
said Hugh with a dramatic start. “How 
tempus does fugit! It seems only yesterday 
that she played about my knee, and now —” 

“Spare me, please,” said Judith, laughing. 
“You can think up some adequate epithets, 
while I talk to Noel. I haven’t had a chance to 
say ‘how do you do’ to him.” 

Noel, as usual, was too shy to have much to 
say even to Judith whom he had known for 
years, and Judith turned to make some polite 
remark to Joyce with whom so far she had not 
had an opportunity to speak. The elders of 
the party had gone up to the grove. 


86 


CAMP IvEN-JOCKETY 


“Does it look wild and strange to you up 
here?” she asked. “I remember a friend of 
Mother’s who came up from Boston thought 
this the most uncivilized place she had ever 
seen.” 

“My cousin is sure that I am going to be 
kidnaped by Indians,” said Joyce, “and when 
I write her that a wild-cat screamed this morn¬ 
ing from a branch right over my head, she’ll 
be more convinced than ever that I’ve gone to 
the ends of the earth.” 

“A wild-cat?” cried Hugh, and Drew, and 
Christine, and Judith, in varying tones of in¬ 
credulity. 

“A wild-cat,” asserted Dicky stoutly with a 
solemn wink at Hugh. “A blue wild-cat! You 
know the kind — blue, with white and black 
stripes.” 

“A blue jay!” said Christine. “You bad 
boy to tease Joyce like that.” 

There was a general laugh which ceased al¬ 
most as quickly as it began. For Joyce, realiz¬ 
ing that she had been “had” by Dicky, and 
that she had made herself seem ridiculously in¬ 
nocent and gullible, felt one of those quick 
passionate gusts of anger which shook her self- 
control and polite manners from her like a veil. 


WHAT I HATE, THAT DO I 87 

“Dicky!” said Christine reproachfully. 

“It is like a wild-cat/’ said Judith. 

“Come on quickly” said Drew; “the others 
have all gone up; we’d no right to stay so long, 
we’re going to be late; come on.” 

Joyce followed him as if hypnotized by his 
urgency, and sat down quietly enough on the 
cushion he placed for her, but inwardly she 
was raging — at Dicky for the first five min¬ 
utes, and then at herself, for being such a fool 
as to show that she cared. Why in the world 
did she let herself go like that! These gusts of 
anger had been growing in frequency lately. 

So absorbed was she in her own feelings that 
she had been standing sharing Drew’s hymn- 
book for several minutes before she noticed 
that some one — why, it was Aunt Fran! — 
was playing a little organ, and every one was 
singing. Both tune and words were unfamiliar 
to Joyce, but there was something dignified 
and reassuring about the music, something 
steadying and quieting about the way it was 
sung, that cleared the mists of anger from eyes 
and mind, and by the time Dr. Morton had 
finished reading the lesson, Joyce was herself 
again, and ready to listen to what was being 
said. 


88 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

Not that she meant to listen. 

“What a lovely glimpse of water through 
those trees!” she thought. “Not a half-bad 
place to have church. I’ll have a nice little 
rest while the minister preaches. Funny that 
he can look so happy when he lost his only two 
sons in the war! You’d think these boys 
would remind him, and he seems to be looking 
right at them, Drew and Hugh and Noel and 
Dicky and all of them sitting on the ridge of 
rock above. Yes, there’s no doubt, Judith is 
nice to look at — distinguee — she must think 
me a goose and a silly baby to show such a 
childish lack of self-control. I’m glad Aunt 
Fran wasn’t there. Well, Fm going to cut out this 
temper business. But I’ve decided that before! 
There doesn’t seem to be much use trying.” 

“What is the minister talking about? Oh, 
Saint Paul. All ministers seem to preach 
about Saint Paul a lot. Why can’t they? — ” 

“For what I would, that do I not; but what 
I hate, that do I.” 

The clear ringing tones broke into her 
thoughts and compelled attention. 

“But what I hate, that do I.” 

“How queer,” thought Joyce. “That’s just 
what I do.” 


WHAT I HATE, THAT DO I 89 

She listened as she had never hitherto lis¬ 
tened to a sermon and did some quick thinking 
during the singing of “ Fight the Good Fight.” 

So that was why Christine had looked sor¬ 
rowful, and why Drew had with obvious 
clumsy masculine tact drawn her away before 
she could speak the angry words surging to her 
lips. They were ashamed for her! They 
wanted to help her hide the fact that she was 
what the padre would call a “slacker.” Or 
perhaps they thought that she was fighting 
and being beaten. Beaten? She winced at the 
word and threw back her head proudly. A 
Hamilton beaten! She could have laughed at 
the idea. Or afraid? She was afraid of noth¬ 
ing. Nothing. Then was she afraid to try? 
And there were reserves in the rear, the padre 
was confident of that, great reserves of Power 
at Headquarters. 

She would try, harder than ever; she would 
not lose her temper again. Dicky might say or 
do anything he pleased from now on. 

Sunday was a quiet day in Wahnanee Bay, 
and the Davidsons tried to make no engage¬ 
ments, so that they might have one day in the 
week, at least, in which they might enjoy one 
another. 


90 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


The day had been hot and the evening did 
not bring its customary coolness. Bed at ten 
o’clock after a quiet day was singularly unin¬ 
viting to Joyce, but she undressed and put out 
the light in order that Christine might not be 
disturbed. 

The night was still; not a leaf was shaken by 
the tiniest breeze. There had been an exqui¬ 
sitely lovely sunset and afterglow, and now the 
moon was making a fairy-like pathway on the 
water. 

“It’s much too beautiful out of doors to 
waste time in sleeping,” thought Joyce, sitting 
up in bed looking out over the water. 

The shy little wood-folk were evidently of 
the same mind, for in the stillness all sorts of 
tiny, usually unnoticed, noises were heard. 
Then a whip-poor-will, apparently in a clump 
of bushes a few yards away from the chalet, 
began repeating his plaintive “whip-poor-will” 
with the maddening persistency of a mechan¬ 
ical toy, and when a relative on the other end 
of the island made the same insane remark, 
but in a different rhythm, Joyce jumped out of 
bed. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Christine 
sleepily. 


WHAT I HATE, THAT DO I 91 

“Nothing,” said Joyce. “Sorry if I’ve 
wakened you. But how can you sleep with that 
wretched whip-poor-will about!” 

“It does sound silly, if you listen,” said 
Christine. 

“It’s maddening ,” retorted Joyce. “If only 
he’d keep time I wouldn’t mind so much, but 
he seems to run down like a musical clock and 
then start again with a jerk in an entirely dif¬ 
ferent rhythm. I suppose one shoe wouldn’t 
frighten him sufficiently to choke his song, but 
I’ll try it.” And with the words she hurled 
her shoe into the bushes. Silence followed and 
Joyce went back into bed again. 

Then, “whip-poor-will,” “whip-poor-will,” 
“whip-poor-will” came more plaintively than 
ever from the other side of the chalet, and at 
the same time some little creature began run¬ 
ning up and down on the wire screen of the 
door. 

A spry little chipmunk it was, evidently out 
for a lark. The dark stripes down his back and 
the soft creamy fur under his chin showed up 
plainly, and Joyce declared that she could see 
the wicked twinkle in his eye. “But, you see, 
he doesn’t know that I have two shoes, and 
that I like a joke as well as he does. That poor 


92 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


little chipmunk is going to get the shock of his 
young life, Chris. Now, then, Mr. Chippy” — 
and, creeping softly to the door, Joyce slapped 
the screening sharply with the sole of her shoe, 
so that Mr. Chippy flew head over heels over 
the bushes and rolled down on the rock where 
he picked himself up and addressed some very 
bad language to the world in general. 

“It’s a gorgeous night, Chris. If I had some 
of your adjectives I’d use them now,” de¬ 
clared Joyce, sitting on the edge of Christine’s 
bed. “Sleepy, Chris, dear?” 

“Well, not now ,” said Christine good-na¬ 
turedly, “but I might have been!” 

“Let’s go in for a dip, it’s as light as day!” 

“Right-o — I’ll run up to the house and ask 
Mother, her light is still on — probably she’ll 
come too.” 

A few minutes later Professor and Mrs. 
Davidson and the two girls very quietly, so as 
not to waken Peggy, crept like conspirators 
down to the bathing-beach, and slipped into 
the shimmering coolness of the bay. 

“Not beyond the dock,” cautioned Pro¬ 
fessor Davidson. “And no diving, remember. 
This light is very treacherous.” 

“Oh, it’s so beautiful, beautiful,” chanted 


WHAT I HATE, THAT DO I 93 

Christine, floating on the silvery path on the 
water. 

“If I could just see a little whip-poor-will 
in danger of drowning and make him promise 
faithfully before I saved him never to say 
‘whip-poor-will’ again, but learn to sing a little 
song like other well-brought-up birds, Fd be 
happy,” said Joyce. 

Down in the west hung Venus, her soft 
radiant light dimming the stars near by. 

The bathers were out of the water now, had 
put on their cloaks and were ready to go back. 

“When I consider thy heavens, the work of 
thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou 
hast ordained; what is man that thou art mind¬ 
ful of him? and the son of man that thou vis- 
itest him?” quoted Mrs. Davidson softly. 

“What are those lines of Blake’s, Daddy,” 
asked Christine, “the ones with, ‘washing the 
dusk with silver’ in them? It is nice that we 
have poets to express our most beautiful mo¬ 
ments — and fathers and mothers who don’t 
forget the words.” 

“Blake would have liked it up here,” said 
Mrs. Davidson. “Say the lines for us, dear, it 
will be a beautiful closing for the day. Nobody 
cold, I hope?” 


94 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“I wish I could live up to Christine’s de¬ 
scription of me,” said Professor Davidson, 
44 but I can’t remember the beginning of 4 To 
the evening star’; it ends this way: 

“‘and, while thou drawest the 
Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew 
On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes 
In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on 
The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes 
And wash the dusk with silver / ” 

Good-nights were said, and, cool and re¬ 
freshed, Joyce got back into bed again. This 
time she did feel sleepy. 

44 They’re dears,” she thought drowsily. 
44 Chris is luckier than she knows — I hope I 
don’t ever lose my temper in front of Aunt 
Fran — but I’m not going to ever again —• 
queer, isn’t it, to quote poetry and the Bi¬ 
ble— just as if it was an ordinary thing to 
do — but it was nice — 4 And wash the dusk 
with silver.’ ” 


CHAPTER VI 
HER FIRST BASS 

The third week of Joyce’s stay at Ken-jockety 
was memorable as a week of several first 
things: there was the day when for the first 
time, she went off all by her lone in the Veery to 
explore Little Moon Island, and there was the 
day when she caught her first bass — that was 
a day to be remembered! 

Little Moon Island had possessed some 
strange attraction for Joyce from her very 
first view of it. Several times they had planned 
to cross the lagoon-like channel and eat their 
supper in some delectable spot on the beautiful 
island shaped like a crescent moon, but each 
time, a visitor, or a late mail-boat, or a heavy 
wind, or something, had interfered. 

On this particular morning, Drew having 
pronounced her quite able 44 to paddle her own 
canoe,” Joyce had asked, and received, per¬ 
mission, to paddle herself across to Little Moon 
and explore it all by herself. 

Every one else was busy; poor Christine 
had discovered ants in the storeroom and was 
turning out supplies to see if they were safe. 


96 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


destroying some, and tying up others still 
more firmly; Mrs. Davidson and Peggy were 
renovating the picnic-basket and reluctant to 
leave their task undone; Drew and Dicky were 
nowhere to be seen; so Joyce, nothing loath, 
set off alone. 

The waters of the bay were quiet, and she 
had no difficulty in guiding the Veery across 
the channel, past the southern wooded bank 
and up into the harbor where she lay drifting 
with the slow, pulsing movement of the water, 
watching the great fleecy white clouds, and 
dreaming happy day-dreams. 

She felt quite as if she were beginning an ad¬ 
venture when finally she landed on the grav¬ 
elly beach, drew up her canoe, and set out to 
explore. 

Little Moon in formation was very much 
like Ken-jockety — wide stretches of pinkish 
granite with blueberries growing thickly in the 
pockets of earth; here and there was a clump of 
pines with a few red cedars, and on the south¬ 
ern shore, near where she had landed, a grove 
of poplar and birch. Like Ken-jockety, Little 
Moon had a piece of higher ground, or rock 
rather, to which Joyce ran with a little cry of 
pleasure. 


HER FIRST BASS 


97 


“What a jewel of a place for a house!” she 
said aloud. “Enough pines to shelter it from 
the north and west winds, but a good view of 
the sunset — oh — just look at that view of 
sky and water!” 

And then she laughed when she realized that 
she was addressing no one at all, that, in fact, 
she was absolutely and entirely alone. 

She threw herself down under a pine-tree 
and looked out over the blue waters; a chip¬ 
munk scolded her for a moment or two from 
the branches overhead, and then, finding that 
she was very quiet and seemed harmless 
enough, set about his own business; a big 
King Billy butterfly fluttered lazily over a 
stalk of milkweed, and his wonderful jewel-like 
coloring gave her a thrill of pleasure; a gull 
near by was hovering and poising, floating and 
swimming, his white wings silhouetted against 
the dazzling blue sky. 

Joyce watched him with the keenest pleas¬ 
ure. She closed her eyes and drew in big 
breaths of the clean, clean air. How delicious 
it was! And how delightful to be alone! Had 
she ever been really alone in her life before? 
She doubted it. Some one had always been 
within call. She would have laughed at the 


98 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


very idea a few weeks ago, but it was, it truly 
was, delightful, this quiet , which she had found 
so strange on the first night of her stay in camp. 

Little Moon was thoroughly explored, and 
pronounced to be even a more perfect island 
than Ken-jockety, for its pines were larger and 
more numerous, its northern shore higher, and 
its view wider than that of its neighbor. 

“And I simply cannot understand,” said 
Joyce at the dinner-table, “why the man who 
owns it doesn’t build a house and live there. I 
don’t believe in absentee landlords, do you. 
Uncle Graeme?” 

“No,” said Professor Davidson emphati¬ 
cally, “ I don’t. It would give me a great deal 
of pleasure to see the owner build there.” 

“What is his name?” asked Joyce idly. 

But just at that identical moment Mrs. 
Davidson upset her tumbler of water, and in 
the flurry of wiping up the water, Joyce’s 
question remained unanswered. 

And then the day when she caught her first 
bass! That was a most exciting and thrilling 
day, just packed with happiness from begin¬ 
ning to end. Joyce knew it was going to be 
wonderful even before she opened her eyes. In 
fact she woke with a smile on her lips. 


HER FIRST BASS 


99 


“What’s the joke?” asked Christine, who 
was already in her bathing-suit. “You don’t 
look as if you’d been kept awake for hours by 
a miserable whip-poor-will.” 

“Goodness me!” said Joyce, sitting up and 
rubbing her eyes. “Isn’t it a bee-yew-tiful 
day! And listen to that bird — is it a song 
sparrow ? I don’t know why I was grinning —- 
dreaming about the picnic, perhaps!” 

By eight o’clock both girls were hard at 
work in the big airy kitchen: Christine was 
packing the picnic-basket, and Joyce was 
bending solicitously over a pan of fluffy-look- 
ing wheat muffins. 

“They look all right,” she said doubtfully. 
“Perhaps they’re too light.” 

“Couldn’t be,” said Christine reassuringly. 
“Ring the bell now, Joy, please — we’ve to 
start at nine, you know, so we’ll have to hurry 
a bit.” 

Plans for the day’s outing were discussed 
with great vigor at the breakfast-table. 

“Hugh says the fishing is excellent at the 
lake,” said Professor Davidson. “I’m going to 
try my luck beside the Skull.” 

“ I bet we’ll get more than the Dawsons did,” 
declared Dicky. “There are four of us men.” 


100 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“Well, see that all of us men sit still,” said 
his father after a general laugh at Dicky’s ex¬ 
pense. 

“Yes, sir,” said Dicky, in no wise abashed. 
“I don’t think Christine ought to be allowed 
to fish, do you? Fish hate being talked to, ’n’ 
she squealed like anything when I caught the 
big pike last year.” 

“You were too frightened to squeal,” re¬ 
torted Christine. “Mother, what should we 
take for supper in case they don’t catch any 
fish?” 

“Beans, please,” said Drew. “I’m going to 
cook the supper and I’d like something easy. 
And put in some pancake flour, Chris. Are the 
baskets ready?” 

“Not quite,” said Christine. “Are you 
finished, Joyce? May we be excused, Mum, 
and we’ll finish packing them?” 

Joyce had seen Christine busy with baskets 
before breakfast, but she had been too much 
engrossed with her muffin-making to notice 
that they were very special baskets indeed. 

Now she had a chance to investigate them as 
she filled little tins with sugar and coffee and 
salt. 

“We call this one the Blue Basket,” ex- 


HER FIRST BASS 


101 


plained Christine, showing the broad blue 
band which ran around the rim. “I gave 
Minjek, an old squaw, my blanket coat in ex¬ 
change for it last summer. She was glad to get 
it for one of her horde of grandchildren, and I 
was gladder to see it go — it was awfully old- 
fashioned, but warm, and I was afraid I’d have 
to wear it another year. Where did I put those 
aluminum salt and peppers? Oh, here they 
are — where was I? — oh, yes — it looked 
such a nice big firm basket we decided to 
make a picnic-hamper of it, and Mum and 
Peggy fitted it up, yesterday. It’s a duck, 
isn’t it?” 

It was a duck, Joyce agreed, as she ex¬ 
amined the pockets lining the basket to hold 
cutlery and paper napkins, a dish-mop, soap, 
two flannel holders for lifting pots, a long fork 
for testing potatoes, a tin of cleansing com¬ 
pound, a can-opener, and a corkscrew. 

“ We’ll put the dishes in here,” continued 
Christine, deftly wiping white enameled cups 
and plates. “The food goes in another basket. 
We always wash the dishes at picnics and put 
them back here, and then it’s no bother to get 
ready for the next one.” 

“What’s this thing at the bottom?” asked 


102 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Joyce, holding up a bit of hinged iron grating 
a couple of feet long. 

“Oh, there it is!” said Christine with relief. 
“ I’ve been looking everywhere for it — it’s 
usually dirty so we don’t keep it in the basket 
— it fits into a duck bag. Drew invented it 
and it’s awfully useful — wait until you are 
cooking fish and pancakes and coffee over a 
camp-fire all at once, and you’ll be awfully 
thankful for something to put over the stones 
to keep the pots steady. A coffee-pot’s awfully 
^PPy — oh, dear, that’s three ‘awfully’s’ in 
one breath — do pinch me, Joyce, when I say 
it. I’m trying awfully hard, but it’s awfully 
difficult!” 

Joyce solemnly administered two small 
pinches on the dimpled cheeks and then a 
large-sized hug by way of amendment. 

“Eight fifty-five,” called Professor David¬ 
son warningly. 

There was a tremendous running to and fro, 
a hasty gathering-up of bathing-suits and 
picnic-baskets, fishing-rods and worms, cam¬ 
eras and books, knitting-bags and mosquito 
oil; but at nine o’clock exactly the whole party 
was assembled on the wharf. They stowed 
themselves and their baskets in Sputter, and 


103 


HER FIRST BASS 

Dicky with the fishing-tackle and bait—- 
which last he refused to trust to any one else 
— took possession of one of the canoes which 
were towed behind. 

Conversation, as long as Sputter was living 
up to her name, was limited to short remarks 
about the beauty of the day. But trite as these 
statements were, they were delightfully true. 
Sky and water were of that serene blue that 
spells fair weather: a few white clouds floated 
high above their heads and served but to ac¬ 
centuate the dazzling blueness; a breeze, de¬ 
liciously fresh and clean, ruffled the water into 
sparkling little waves, and dispelled any serious 
misgivings as to the misdeeds of that persist¬ 
ent pest, the mosquito. 

They crossed the main bay threading their 
way through the islands and past a number 
of cottages, and then were soon ascending the 
Wahnanee River. 

The banks were steep and high, the great 
rocky cliffs looking rather gray and grim in 
the strong sunlight. Pines grew everywhere 
even in the barest-looking crevices in the rocks, 
and in places the thick woods crept down 
almost to the shore. 

Half an hour’s hard work brought a day’s 


104 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

rest to Sputter, for she was tied up at the en¬ 
trance to the lumber chute at the head of the 
river, where the first portage was to be made. 

The Gray Goose was already there, and the 
Bensons were preparing for the portage. 

Portaging was a new experience for Joyce, 
and she was an interested onlooker while 
Drew padded the shoulders of the two older 
men with boat cushions and helped adjust the 
canoes on them. How long and unwieldy the 
Veery looked balancing on Professor David¬ 
son’s shoulders! Then, waiting until the two 
curious-looking figures had disappeared down 
the leafy trail, Drew seized the red canoe, 
swung it on to his shoulders, and with a whoop 
followed the others. 

“Won’t they suffocate?” asked Joyce of 
Christine. “I don’t see how in the world 
Drew can manage the red canoe — it’s fright¬ 
fully heavy.” 

“Well, Drew’s pretty strong,” said Chris¬ 
tine, not without pride. “ Dad and Uncle Ben 
will be ‘ puffed,’ I expect — it’s hot work, but 
fortunately a short portage. Will you take 
Drew’s precious kit-bag, Joyce, and the camera 
and two paddles? Mother, don’t you and Aunt 
Margaret take a single thing.” 


HER FIRST BASS 


105 


However, Mrs. Davidson and Mrs. Benson 
refused to be disposed of as easily as that, and 
claimed their share of the multitude of small 
things to be carried. Then in single file they 
followed Dicky’s lead through the woods. 
The bushes grew high on either side and the 
branches of the tall slender maples formed a 
shady canopy, but no one lingered to admire 
the beauty of the scene, for the mosquitoes 
had here a lurking-place and fell upon the 
stragglers. 

Joyce followed the example of the others, 
broke off a couple of bracken fronds and tried 
— unsuccessfully — to keep off the pests. 

At the end of the trail the two men were 
found sitting on the rocks fanning themselves, 
while Drew, exulting privately in his own 
splendid young strength, chaffed them gayly, 
and inquired solicitously whether they would 
be able to paddle across the lake, or would he 
come back for them after he had taken his 
mother across. 

“Wait till I’ve been up here a week or two, 
you young scoundrel,” growled Uncle Ben, 
“and I’ll make you eat those scornful words. 
I’d make you do it now if it weren’t so beastly 
hot.” 


106 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“Poor old Daddy, he’s blowing like a gram¬ 
pus — a grampus does blow, doesn’t it?” said 
Judith. “ It sounds ancient, anyway, and ought 
to be tenderly cared for. You shall stretch your 
tired self in the Gosling and your dutiful daugh¬ 
ter shall ferry you across in ease.” 

It was noon by the time they had made the 
second short portage and found a camping- 
spot on Little Bass Lake. A cold luncheon 
was hastily dispatched, for the fishermen were 
anxious to be off. 

“How are we going to divide up?” asked 
Judith. “ Moi — I’m not at all keen to fish, so 
I’ll paddle.” 

“Nor me,” said Christine, “but I do want 
Joyce to get a good fish.” She looked beseech¬ 
ingly at Drew. 

“We-1-1,” said Drew slowly, relinquishing 
his plan to go with his father and Dr. Benson, 
who were taking possession of the red canoe. 
“If Joyce will invite me to go in the Veery, 
I’ll invite Judith and we’ll go to the Elbow — 
an Elbow’s as good as a Skull any day — and 
we’ll bring home more fish than all the rest of 
you put together.” 

So it was agreed. Mrs. Davidson and Mrs. 
Benson settled down for a rest, Christine and 


HER FIRST BASS 


107 


Peggy decided to troll for pike, and the others 
divided the bait and went off full of boastings 
as to the fish they would bring back for supper. 

It was hot in the early afternoon hours. 
The little breeze which had promised to be so 
delightfully refreshing had died down. Drew 
stopped in the shadow of the big rocks, and 
they dropped their lines in the dark, deep¬ 
looking water, but it was evidently too hot a 
day to tempt the fish. Drew had a nibble or 
two and had to replenish his bait. Judith 
pulled in a small bass, below size, and then 
nothing happened for a long time. 

Joyce was disgusted. “If these are the 
joys of fishing, then give me something else,” 
she said to herself as the afternoon shadows 
lengthened. The sunburn on her neck and 
arms was stinging, all her mosquito bites, old 
and new, added torment, and her legs were 
cramped in an uncomfortable position. Al¬ 
together Miss Hamilton longed for a comfort¬ 
able hammock on the big shady veranda at 
Ken-jockety; she even played with thoughts of 
her old room beside Cousin Edith’s with its 
green-shuttered, white-tiled bathroom. In¬ 
voluntarily she sighed. At any rate, she 
needn’t stay here any longer and blister in the 


108 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


heat. She’d just ask Drew to take her back 
to the camping-place, and then he and Judith 
could go on sitting in the sun like graven 
images for hours and hours if they liked; as 
for her, she was bored — absolutely bored 
by it. 

Joyce was actually opening her mouth to 
make the request when she suddenly stopped. 

“ A pretty raw deal, if you ask me,” said a 
little voice deep down within her. “ Pretty 
decent of Drew to bring you and Judy over 
here when he really wanted to go with the 
men — yes, he did want to, you know it, 
Joyce Virginia Hamilton. Nice thing it’d be 
to ask him to give up an hour of the short time 
he’s got, to take you back — besides, he’d 
be pleased, wouldn’t he, at the success of his 
fishing-party.” 

“Well, it didn’t succeed,” moaned Joyce 
Virginia Hamilton, now thoroughly sorry for 
herself. “ I don’t want to stay, and I’ll have a 
headache if I do.” 

“It wouldn’t hurt you very badly if you 
did,” was the unsympathetic answer, “and you 
probably won’t. No! The only decent thing 
for you to do is to sit still and pretend you’re 
enjoying yourself.” 


HER FIRST BASS 109 

“Very well,” said Joyce Virginia rather 
crossly; “then I’ll have to pretend.” 

She didn’t have to pretend for very long. 
At that identical moment she felt a tug at the 
end of her line — just a gentle little tug, but 
an electric thrill shot up her arm and down her 
spine. There were other tugs — big impera¬ 
tive ones. The line reeled out with frightening 
speed! 

Drew acted quickly. 

“Here, Judy, take my line — wind ’em 
both in. Gee, Joyce, he’s a big one, no mis¬ 
take. Let him right out — now wind it up a 
bit — get the landing-net, Judy, as soon as 
you can — give him his head again, Joyce—• 
steady — don’t lean over —” 

Drew was paddling with a skill that Joyce 
could not appreciate. 

Four times she played her fish almost up to 
the canoe and then he broke away again. 

“Never mind,” said Drew consolingly after 
the last failure. “We’ll get him this time — 
now — go easy — and don t lean over now 
— now — ah — what a beaut!” 

He was a beauty gleaming through the 
meshes of the net! 

Joyce surveyed him, and then turned away 


110 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


with a little shudder as Drew reached for the 
blunt stick. It seemed a shame — he had 
fought so gallantly! 

But Judith gave Joyce no time for further 
thought. “ He must be three pounds — you 
take Drew’s rod, please, Joyce. I want to 
catch one immediately , if not sooner — thanks, 
the bait’s all right.” 

“Ell take the paddle,” volunteered Joyce, 
“but if either of you catch a big one I’m 
afraid I can’t steer well enough.” 

Joyce had turned the luck evidently, for the 
next hour, though it brought no more beauties, 
netted them seven fair-sized black bass and 
several rock bass. 

“Guess we’ll have to go,” said Drew reluc¬ 
tantly, as he pulled in his fifth. “ The others are 
steering for shore. These fish must be cleaned 
before we have supper, and it’ll have to be 
early unless we want to be eaten by mosqui¬ 
toes. I bet you a quart of huckleberries we’ve 
got the prize fish.” 

“Show me your minnows, you fellows,” he 
called derisively as they landed. 

“ Minnows, nothing! ” yelled Dicky. “ Seven 
pounds, I bet.” 

“Of what?” returned Drew promptly. 


HER FIRST BASS 


111 


“Pike — yah! Who wants pike when he caii 
have all the bass we’ve got? Hold it up, Joyce. 
There, what’d I tell you! And gamey, too! 
Gave Joyce a dandy fight, but she got him.” 

Joyce glowed as she said, “I couldn’t have 
gotten him alone.” 

Judith had the camera ready, and Joyce was 
snapped holding her big bass, and Dicky with 
his monster pike, and the two men with their 
catch — a good catch, too, though they had 
no sensational prize. 

Fires were lighted and frying-pans put on 
the coals at the proper moment, and soon a 
savory fragrance was tantalizing others be¬ 
sides Dicky, who announced himself as starv¬ 
ing to death. 

Never did anything taste as good, thought 
Joyce, as she took her first mouthful of the 
crisp brown fish. There must be some magic 
in the cold blue water and the fire of spicy pine. 
Mere ordinary fish could not be so delectable. 
But y then this was no mere ordinary fish, for 
she was eating a portion of the very one she 
herself had caught. She wished Judith had 
been as lucky. 

“And I don’t deserve it,” she told herself a 
little later on the way home. “Just think, 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


112 

Joyce Virginia Hamilton, how ashamed you’d 
be right now, and how this lovely day would 
have been spoiled, if you’d been a selfish pig 
about going back.” 

Joyce didn’t moralize for long. 

“Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques, 
Dormez-vous, dormez-vous?” 

sang Christine and Judith and Drew in the red 
canoe which led the way into the sunset. 

Joyce joined with a will in the singing of the 
old French round and smiled to herself as 
she thought of the letter she would write her 
father next morning. 

Oh, a very happy day l 


CHAPTER VII 

AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 

“Chris, what do you think?” asked Judith im¬ 
pressively as she drew up beside Ken-jockety’s 
wharf in the Gosling. 

“Lots of things,” said Christine promptly. 
“For instance, that I’m glad I made the sort of 
salad that you like best, because you simply 
must come to the beaver dam for luncheon 
with us, and that I love that violet middy-tie 
— where did you get it? — and that if my 
hair would curl like Joy’s I’d be perfectly and 
absolutely happy — isn’t it lovely? — and 
that I saw two night-hawks on the rocks this 
morning. Do say you’ll come to luncheon. 
Dad and Drew are going up to the Mus¬ 
quash River afterwards — they will be out 
overnight — and —” 

“Stop her, stop her, Joyce!” cried Judith, 
putting her hands over her ears. “Do you 
know,” she continued solemnly, “I don’t be¬ 
lieve you’d better try to get into York Hill this 
fall, Chris. You see there are several other 
girls there who like to talk, and, as they’d have 


114 CAMP ICEN-JOCKETY 

no chance once you arrived, you’d be fright¬ 
fully unpopular.” 

“I’m improving,” said Christine, dimpling. 
“Joyce tells me so almost every day. What’s 
your news?” 

“Hugh and Noel were over yesterday help¬ 
ing us build a big bonfire,” said Judith — “by 
the way, will you all come to-morrow and 
watch it burn? — and Hugh says” — Ju¬ 
dith’s tones were impressive — “that Mrs. 
Dawson is going to give a party for all of us.” 

“Hurrah!” cried Christine. “Three cheers 
for Mrs. Dawson!” 

“Hugh wants ideas from us,” continued 
Judith. “He suggests that we go in fancy 
dress. What do you think?” 

“Good idea,” said Christine, “except that 
we haven’t many things up here to use. How- 
somever, we can talk it over this afternoon. 
Did you bring your bathing-suit?” 

“No,” said Judith, “but if you’ll wait for 
me. I’ll run across to ask about going with you 
for luncheon, and I’ll bring my suit back with 
me. If I lower the flag to half mast, that means 
I can’t come. You keep an eye on the flag, will 
you, Joyce?” 

She was back very quickly, however, and 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 115 


the three of them enjoyed a good swim. They 
were just coming out, when Joyce uttered a 
startled cry. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Christine 
quickly, for Joyce’s face was white. 

“A snake!” cried Joyce. “There — look, 
swimming — suppose he should land!” 

But Mr. Snake had apparently no such in¬ 
tention, for he headed straight across the 
channel. 

“Just a water-snake,” said Christine in a 
relieved tone. “They won’t hurt you — al¬ 
ways run away — and none of the kinds up 
here are poisonous.” 

“I wouldn’t care whether it was poisonous 
or not,” said Joyce, shuddering slightly. “If 
one touched me, I’d just die! I can’t bear the 
idea of them! I thought you said, Chris, that 
there weren’t any snakes on this island?” 

“It wasn’t on the island,” said Christine 
teasingly, “but we very seldom do see one, 
and still less often do we touch one. — Oh, 
dear, there’s Dad coming down from the 
study. I’ll run up and finish the baskets as 
soon as I’ve dressed; don’t you come, Joyce, 
I should think you’d be tired after all the 
hammering I heard this morning.” 


116 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


It took about an hour and a half to reach 
the beaver dam, and no one demurred this 
time when Professor Davidson produced a 
book for the after-dinner rest-hour. 

“Captain Adams was telling me yesterday 
about the pageant they had at Penetangui- 
shene,” he said as he turned over the pages of 
the volume of Parkman. “Too bad we all 
missed it. I thought that, in order to refresh 
our memories, we might read the account of 
Champlain’s discovery and exploration of this 
part of the world. Perhaps you didn’t know, 
Joyce,” he continued, turning to her, “ that they 
celebrated the tercentenary of Champlain’s 
arrival in Georgian Bay a few years ago. 
Ah, here’s a bit about flies and mosquitoes 
which ought to comfort you, Peggy. They 
were evidently even worse three hundred years 
ago than they are now. Here is a page 
from the diary of one of the Recollet Fathers 
who followed Champlain into the Ottawa 
country; 

“ ‘ I confess this is the worst martyrdom 
I suffered in this country: hunger, thirst, 
weariness, and fever, are nothing to it. These 
little beasts not only persecute you all day, but 
at night they get into your eyes and mouth, 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 117 

crawl under your clothes, or stick their long 
stings through them, and make such a noise 
that it distracts your attention, and prevents 
you from saying your prayers.’ ” 

“Same little beasts,” said Dicky, rubbing 
his ankles, “though these are not so bad as the 
black flies were that summer we came up 
early.” 

“Ah, here’s the chapter I wanted about 
Champlain’s first voyage down this coast. 
Everybody comfortable?” 

Perhaps it was because this part of the world 
was so new to Joyce, so remote from the 
life she had led in crowded cities and sea¬ 
side resorts, so strange even now in this twen¬ 
tieth century, that the crossing by Parkman’s 
magical bridge into the distant days of the 
seventeenth century was not a very difficult 
feat after all. 

Had she not felt like a discoverer herself 
only a few days ago on Little Moon Island? 

So, with great interest, she followed the 
story of Champlain’s journey up the valley of 
the Ottawa: she sympathized with his trials 
and difficulties, his failures because of the 
treachery of lying guides, his persistent belief 
that a great body of water did indeed lie to the 


118 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


westward, and she rejoiced when he finally be¬ 
held the vast Mer-Douce or Freshwater Sea, 
Lake Huron. 

44 Before him,” read Professor Davidson, 
44 too far for sight, lay the spirit-haunted Mani- 
toulins, and southward spread the vast bosom 
of the Georgian Bay. For more than a hundred 
miles, his course was along its eastern shores, 
among islets, countless as the sea-sands — an 
archipelago of rocks worn for ages by the 
wash of waves. . . . He seems to have landed a 
little west of the harbor of Penetanguishene.” 

“Our Penetanguishene?” asked Dicky. 
44 Read that part over again, please, Daddy 
— I wasn’t listening.” 

44 Afterwards, son,” answered Professor Da¬ 
vidson. 44 It wouldn’t be fair to the others, 
would it? Listen to this about the Indian 
town of Otonacha, which stood near where 
Orillia is now. Remember, we passed through 
Orillia coming up to camp?” 

Joyce drew a long breath, as Professor 
Davidson finished with a description of the 
meeting of Champlain and Father Le Caron 
who had preceded him by a short time and 
who, on the twelfth of August, 1615, in the 
presence of Champlain and his followers, cele- 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 119 


brated the first Mass said in the country of 
the Hurons. 

“Oh, wouldn’t Le Caron be glad to see 
Champlain!” she cried. 

“I don’t wonder they made a pageant of it 
at Penetang,” said Judith. “It’s really a very 
dramatic scene, isn’t it. Uncle Graeme? I 
wish we’d been there to see the pageant.” 

“So do I,” chimed in Christine. “It must 
have been awfully pretty with that beautiful 
wooded shore as a background.” 

“Why shouldn’t we have a pageant of our 
own?” said Judith, speaking slowly. “I be¬ 
lieve we could get one up right here in Wahna- 
nee — and charge everybody something, the 
spectators, I mean — and send the money to 
the Fresh Air Fund.” 

“What a gorgeous idea!” said Christine, her 
eyes shining. “We could make quite a lot, 
couldn’t we — everybody in camps and from 
the hotels farther down the bay would come. 
Judy, darlin’, you do have the most brilliant 
ideas! Daddy, don’t you think it’s a dandy 
scheme?” 

“I don’t believe I can go as far as ‘dandy,’” 
said Professor Davidson, smiling at Christine’s 
eager face, “and, as I dislike ‘dandy,’ almost 


no 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


as much as ‘ripping/ which you got rid of last 
spring, I’d be obliged if you’d banish ‘dandy’ 
also. I wonder why you are so passionately 
attached to adjectives, Christine?” 

“Oh, Daddy, don’t you, really?” 

“Yes, I do, really . Of course, it isn’t worth 
doing at all unless it’s done well — but I be¬ 
lieve I know where I could get some costumes 
for you.” 

“Then there’s our fancy-dress party!” cried 
Judith, clapping her hands. “We could all 
dress up as habitants or Indians, or ladies of 
the French Court. Let’s have a scene at Ver¬ 
sailles in the pageant — Champlain saying 
good-bye to the King—or something like that.” 

“Hurrah for Judy!” said Drew. “Hugh’s a 
lazy beggar — wanted ideas for his party, and 
here you are ready to shower him with a reg¬ 
ular bouquet of ’em.” 

Christine and Judith refused to accompany 
the others to see the beaver’s house; they 
elected to stay with Mrs. Davidson who was 
reading under the pine-trees in her hammock; 
they had too much to talk about, they said; 
they were going to begin planning the pageant 
at once. 

Joyce shared Peggy’s excitement at the 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 121 

prospect of seeing a beaver’s house. Years 
before, she had read an account, in some mag¬ 
azine, of the ingenuity and skill of the little 
carpenter, of the cunningness with which he 
concealed his front door, and of the comfort 
and security of his dry upper chamber. A 
vague picture was in her mind of something 
like a partly submerged doll’s house, with neat 
gabled roof and four square walls. 

She shared, therefore, in Peggy’s keen disap¬ 
pointment when they arrived at the pond and 
were asked to admire a mud bank, out of which 
protruded sticks of various sizes. 

“But where’s the house?” asked Peggy. 

Joyce began to laugh at herself as she real¬ 
ized the absurdity of what she had been ex¬ 
pecting, and tried to comfort Peggy who was 
being teased by Drew. 

“It’s very dull and uninteresting,” said 
Peggy, turning a deaf ear to Drew. “ I thought 
it was really a house , not a mud heap — and 
there’s not a beaver to be seen.” 

She refused to be interested in the trees 
which had been so neatly felled by the small 
workmen, but was finally enticed by Dicky to 
join him in throwing pebbles into the water, in 
the hope that they might start a beaver. 


122 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

Joyce, however, was glad to learn that the 
beaver’s home was cleverly constructed, and 
that, after he had entered his hidden doorway, 
he could go upstairs to join his family in the 
dry sitting-room above, and enjoy twigs from 
his storeroom for supper. 

Drew showed her, too, the extent of the dam 
and several little canals the beavers had con¬ 
structed to use in floating down some of the 
sticks for it. These canals were probably just 
a widening of tiny openings already in the 
sand, but they showed the beaver’s ingenuity 
and reasoning powers. 

Drew and his father stayed only long enough 
to see Joyce and the children started on the 
trail again, and then took a short cut through a 
marshy bit of land back to the canoe, for Drew 
declared it was high time that they were off for 
Moose Lake where they meant to spend the 
night. 

Left with the children, Joyce felt a little 
lonely and depressed, and, when a mean little 
thought took possession of her mind, she made 
no attempt to banish it. In fact, by the time 
they were nearing the camp, she had quite given 
herself up to miserable jealous imaginings. 

Christine didn’t really care for her — she 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 123 


just worshiped Judy Benson — anybody could 
see that — look how quickly Chris had said 
she would stay behind with Judy — she 
supposed they were talking, talking, talking 
about York Hill! She supposed Judy Benson 
thought she knew everything there was to 
know about pageants and dramatics! She 
needn’t be so proud! But Chris just adored 
her — and wouldn’t care a bit if she, Joyce, 
were to go home — perhaps she’d been here 
long enough, anyway! 

It was a very dejected-looking Joyce who 
reached the camping-place, only to find the 
others already in the boats waiting impa¬ 
tiently. 

“Hurry, hurry, slow-pokes!” cried Chris¬ 
tine. “ We’ll go off without you.” 

And when Joyce and the children were 
seated, she added, “Judy wants us to go over 
and see some things she thinks will make cos¬ 
tumes, and Mother wants to see Aunt Mar¬ 
garet — we’re to stay the evening — won’t it 
be fun?” 

Then, noticing Joyce’s hesitation, and the 
expression on her face, she added quickly, 
“Aren’t you feeling well, Joy? Don’t you want 
to come?” 


124 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“Pm not feeling awfully well,” said Joyce, 
quickly seeing a means of escape. “No, noth¬ 
ing really, Aunt Fran, but I’ve a little bit of 
headache. I’d just sooner go on home if you 
don’t mind.” She forced a smile in Judith’s 
direction. 

“Let me go, too, Mum, please,” pleaded 
Peggy. “I want to finish my story, and I can 
be company for Joyce.” 

A grubby little hand stole into Joyce’s, and 
for a moment that unhappy young person felt 
something warm and alive again in her heart. 

Mrs. Davidson gave her permission, and 
Judith and Christine said they were sorry, 
but their regret didn’t prevent Judith from 
continuing a long account of a fancy-dress 
party they had last year at York Hill, and 
Christine’s admiring comments and questions 
fanned Joyce’s jealousy and ill-temper. 

She was thoroughly miserable by the time 
she and Peggy reached Ken-jockety in the 
Veery, and she retired to a hammock with a 
book which she pretended to read, while Peggy 
curled up in Professor Davidson’s big basket 
chair at the farthest end of the veranda, and 
devoured her story. 

The story must have been even more than 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 125 


usually absorbing, for when Joyce, who had 
decided that salad and rolls and fruit, and 
some of that nice cake she had made yesterday 
would be some slight mitigation of the miseries 
of unrequited friendship, called her to supper, 
Peggy pleaded for just five minutes more. 

“All right,” said Joyce, “five minutes. I’ll 
time you.” (Peggy was rather a dear; Joyce 
hadn’t forgotten that affectionate little hand¬ 
clasp !) 

Peggy answered the second summons very 
reluctantly, and ate her salad in silence. 

“Agnes is in a terrible muddle,” she replied 
to Joyce’s inquiries as to the progress of the 
story. “You see, she has found out that some 
of the girls in her form are cheating, and she 
doesn’t know what to do — she’s the Form 
President — she wants to be decent about it —* 
but, of course, it’s hard to decide — those 
girls were just dreadful — did I tell you what 
they did on the first day of term?” 

Joyce listened with one ear only. Christine 
would be drinking in stories of life at York Hill 
just now, and next year she’d be with Judith 
altogether, and she, Joyce, would be quite for¬ 
gotten. 

Peggy chattered on, and then looked long¬ 
ingly at her book. 


126 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

“ I’ll wash the dishes and clear away, Joyce,” 
she observed with a big sigh. “You got the 
supper ready — it was a nice supper, too.” 

Joyce, in the midst of her gloom, smiled. 

“ You run along and finish your book, honey. 
I’ll only be a few minutes.” 

“How quiet the house is,” thought Joyce 
as she dried the dishes. “Seems positively 
spooky, it’s so still — no wonder, though, 
with Chris and Dicky both away. I don’t 
believe there is any wind at all — the water is 
just like a mirror — I wonder what that is 
moving those bushes — a skunk maybe — 
or perhaps a snake — I do hope they won’t 
wait until dark.” 

Just at that moment, as if the word “dark” 
were a signal, there was a sudden thud in the 
quiet kitchen as if something soft, yet heavy, 
had fallen from the open rafters to the floor. 

Joyce did not cry out, but for some queer 
reason her heart seemed to miss a beat or two. 
Still standing with the plate and tea-towel in 
her hands, she moved her head very, very 
slowly, and looked over her shoulder. 

Yes, of course! — she knew it. A large snake 
lay coiled on the floor four or five feet away! 

For a moment, just one terror-filled moment. 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 127 


Joyce stood frozen with fear, and then bounded 
out of the door, still clutching towel and 
plate. 

Once outside, she remembered that she was 
not alone; there was Peggy. Extraordinary, 
how comforting the thought of Peggy was — 
Peggy, who knew so much about the wild 
things and who feared nothing. Then like a 
lightning flash came the second thought. Aunt 
Frances had said that snakes must not be even 
mentioned to Peggy! 

“What a good thing I didn’t scream,” 
thought Joyce. “She’s still lost in her book. 
I’ll just stay on the veranda, too, until Drew 
and Uncle Graeme come home — but they 
aren’t coming home to-night! Oh, goodness 
me! I wonder where the horrible thing is 
now.” 

She peered through the screen-door, but, 
even as she shrank from seeing the wicked¬ 
looking eyes and the undulating curves, she 
hoped that she would see Mr. Snake just where 
he had fallen, for if the inner kitchen door were 
open, and he was not to be seen on the kitchen 
floor, why, then he might be anywhere — in the 
living-room, in the bedrooms, up on the raft¬ 
ers — ready to drop down again! 


128 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

Joyce shivered at the thought of that soft 
thud, and then addressed herself sternly. 

“You were a silly idiot, Joyce Virginia 
Hamilton, to rush away like that without look¬ 
ing to see where the — the brute — was going! 
Nice news to greet Chris and Aunt Fran and 
Peggy with! A snake somewhere in the house! 
Now pull yourself together, for — he must be 
found before it’s too dark to hunt. 

“Now, if I do find him — what’ll I do? I 
could shut up the room, of course — but I’d 
better have something in case —” 

Joyce didn’t put it to herself more clearly 
than that, but she knew the unspoken fear at 
the back of her mind. Suppose the snake were 
to twist around her ankle, or drop from the 
rafter again. She didn’t dare let her mind 
dwell on it, but hurriedly seized a broom, 
and a small hatchet which hung beside the 
stove, and, armed with these weapons, she 
began her search. 

There were many likely lurking-places in 
the pantry, many tins and boxes to be gingerly 
pushed and poked by the broom-handle, and 
she had just convinced herself that there was 
no intruder in this room, at least, when Peggy 
appeared in the doorway. 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 129 

“I ought to have helped you,” said Peggy 
pentitently. “ You’ve been ever so long. What 
are you doing? Aren’t you coming out now?” 

“No,” answered Joyce. “Not just yet. 
You go on with your reading. And, Peggy, 
I’m hunting for — something I’ve lost — 
and don’t come in unless I call you, please — 
because it’s — a sort of — surprise.” 

“All right,” said Peggy carelessly, her mind 
still intent on her heroine’s adventures. “ Call 
me when you want me.” 

Even in the midst of her misery Joyce gave 
a little chuckle at Peggy’s ignorance of the 
tremendous double-meaning in the seemingly 
innocent expression — “a sort of surprise.” 

She tackled the sitting-room next, poking 
behind sofa-cushions and under chairs and 
couches, but still nothing was to be found. 

Mrs. Davidson’s bedroom was inspected, 
and Joyce was going into Peggy’s room, when 
something like a shadow moved on the floor. 

Quick as a flash, Joyce pinned the shadow 
to the floor with her broom, and then turned 
sick with repugnance as the shadow twisted 
and turned, and she met the hatred of two 
wickedly gleaming eyes and a hissing forked 
tongue. 


130 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

She stood it for a moment or two, then 
looked away; the same instant her hold on the 
broom slackened, the snake, quick to feel the 
difference, twisted himself free, and was out of 
sight before Joyce could recover her hold. 

This time Joyce gave up the chase. Her at¬ 
tempt at holding the snake had made her feel 
giddy and ill, and she went out to the veranda, 
angry with herself for having failed. 

Peggy greeted her joyfully. “Got your sur¬ 
prise yet?” 

Evidently Peggy expected something new 
and interesting in the way of fudge or cake. 

“No,” said Joyce. “I think I’ll wait till the 
others come. Here’s Sputter now. Let’s go 
down and help them land.” 

“I’m afraid your head’s worse, Joyce, dear,” 
said Mrs. Davidson sympathetically as they 
went up the steps into the bungalow. 

Peggy, fortunately, had stayed down at 
the wharf to say good-night to the minks, so 
that Joyce was able to give a brief account 
of her adventure. But she had not quite 
finished, when, suddenly, to Mrs. Davidson’s 
astonishment, she darted through the door 
into the bedroom and slammed down the covel 
of a trunk which stood open. 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 131 


“He’s in your trunk, Aunt Fran,” Joyce 
whispered tensely. “I saw him stick up his 
head.” 

Mrs. Davidson looked slightly bewildered. 

“Are you sure, Joyce?” she asked. “Seems 
almost too —” 

“I know,” interrupted Joyce. “Sort of 
melodramatic, and like a movie. But he’s in 
there all right.” 

She felt as if a tremendous burden had been 
lifted from her. The snake was Aunt Fran’s 
responsibility now! 

Mrs. Davidson looked meditatively at the 
trunk, but she made no movement to open the 
lid. Joyce was surprised; she had a vague 
notion that Aunt Fran would immediately 
open the trunk and dispatch the snake. 

“If he’s there, he can’t get out, but — I 
think we’d better move the trunk out on to 
the veranda. We’ll not do anything until 
morning,” said Mrs. Davidson. 

Christine and Joyce lifted out the little trunk 
after Peggy was safely in her own room, and 
then, tired out by the day’s events, betook 
themselves to bed. X 

Christine as usual talked unceasingly. To¬ 
night she had four thrilling subjects, Hugh’s 


132 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

party, the pageant, the great and glorious York 
Hill, and Joyce’s heroism in tackling the snake. 

Joyce was too tired to interrupt, but, when 
Christine’s stock of adjectives was at last 
exhausted and she came through the curtain 
to say good-night, Joyce protested. 

“You mustn’t think I was brave,” she said. 
“I was scared stiff — and then I wobbled so 
that he was able to slip out from under the 
broom. I really failed, and Aunt Fran has 
made me feel ashamed, she’s said so many nice 
things to me.” 

Joyce might be ashamed, but she looked 
very happy, nevertheless. 

“That’s real bravery,” said Christine sagely, 
brushing her smooth goldy hair. “ I don’t know 
how you did it all. Ugh — makes me shiver to 
think of it twisting around the broom. Do you 
know what we planned this afternoon, Joyce?” 

Christine threw her arms impulsively around 
her room-mate. 

“We decided that we were going to concen¬ 
trate on you to make you want to come to 
York Hill and then on your father to make 
him let you come. Oh, Joy, do! It truly is just 
the school. You’d love the winter sports, and 
we’d have such good times together.” 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 133 


“If Father is still away, I’d like nothing 
better,” was the prompt reply. 

She was surprised afterwards when she real¬ 
ized how inevitable her answer had seemed. 
Do without Christine and Peggy and Drew 
and Aunt Fran! It was unthinkable. And she 
hadn’t been aware of their existence a month 
ago! 

Next morning no one seemed to be in a 
hurry to tackle the problem of what to do with 
the snake. 

“If only Dad or Drew were here,” said 
Christine, as she and Joyce worked in the 
kitchen. “Mother will be afraid to trust 
Dicky; he might let it escape, and, anyway, I 
expect he’ll have to take Peggy off some¬ 
where.” 

Christine was right in her surmise, for Mrs. 
Davidson said casually at the breakfast-table: 

“By the way, Dicky, didn’t I hear you and 
Peggy speak about wanting to practice doubles 
with the Mortons? I want to send a note to 
Mrs. Morton this morning, so, as soon as your 
work is done, you and Peggy might go over.” 

“All right,” said Dicky. “We’re going to 
get busy right now for the regatta. Tip says 
the first prize for the most points for our lot is 


134 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

a silver watch; he says he’s going to get it. 
You just watch me take it away from him; he 
can’t steer any more’n — a porcupine.” 

“May we take our bathing-suits, Mum?” 
asked Peggy anxiously. “Margy and I want 
to practice swimming. She can beat me all 
hollow at diving; it takes me so long to come 
up after I plunge that I can’t catch up to her. 
Please, Mummy — please!” 

“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Davidson, smiling at 
the eager little face. “ I’m sure I can trust you 
to do just as if you were here. Not more than 
twenty minutes, remember; take the hunting- 
watch with you.” 

After breakfast Dicky and Peggy fell upon 
the chores with such vigor that the living- 
room and verandas were tidied, wood carried 
in, and water pumped in about half the usual 
time. Then away the two went to spend the 
morning at the Mortons’. 

Even then Mrs. Davidson didn’t seem to be 
in a hurry to open the trunk. 

“We could wait till Father comes home; he 
may be here before evening; but it would look 
rather silly and the snake — if he’s there — 
may spoil some of the white clothes.” 

Finally, when it appeared probable that the 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 135 


children would soon return, she decided that 
they had better tackle him. 

“Let’s lift the trunk out on to the rocks,” 
she suggested, “so that, in case he should 
escape, he can’t get back into the house.” 

Christine had come armed with the hatchet, 
Joyce had a broom, and Mrs. Davidson was 
carrying an umbrella with a curved handle. 

Christine giggled at sight of this last. 

“ What are you going to do with Dad’s best 
umbrella, Mother, darlin’?” she cried. “Are 
you going to whack Mr. Snake good and 
proper if he puts up his head to hiss, or do you 
mean to hook him out of the trunk with the 
handle? I shouldn’t advise you to do that, you 
know, he might curl up it. Oh, Mummy, you 
do look so serious. Can you feel him twining 
around your ankle?” 

“I feel serious. Miss Impertinence; the um¬ 
brella is to hook out the clothes. Who’s going 
to open the trunk?” 

The three assassins looked at one another 
solemnly, and each one said she would do it, 
but it was very clear that no one was anxious 
for the honor. 

“I’ll tell you what,” cried Christine. “Let’s 
get some chairs and put them around in a 


136 CAMP ICEN-JOCKETY 

circle with a little pile of stones on each one, 
ready to throw at him, and then I’ll poke the 
lid open.” 

She and Joyce quickly brought the stones 
and the chairs, and the three mounted them, 
although Mrs. Davidson laughingly declared 
that she had never felt so foolish since the 
time, years ago, when on her first visit to 
Muskoka she had tried to put salt on a chip¬ 
munk’s tail in order to tame him. 

Christine hooked the umbrella-handle under 
the lock and threw back the lid. 

The three held their breath! But no ugly 
hissing head appeared. Only Peggy’s best 
white frock lay daintily clean and fresh on the 
top of the folded clothes. 

44 Give me Peggy’s dress carefully,” said 
Mrs. Davidson. 44 1 don’t want to have to 
press it again.” 

Joyce, meanwhile, was poking out some of 
the clothes with her broom-handle, and soon 
the tray of the trunk was empty. 

44 Well, no snake could possibly be in there,” 
said Christine, jumping down from her perch 
and seizing the tray. 44 Nothing but a fishworm 
could wiggle down through the cracks at the 
side.” And she began recklessly to put in her 
hands and pull out the clothes. 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 137 


“I saw him,” said Joyce positively; “and as 
he couldn’t get out , he must be in: do be care¬ 
ful, Chris.” 

“Why, here’s my white serge skirt, right at 
the bottom,” announced Christine pouncing 
on it. “I was hunting —” 

There was a sudden hissing sound, a fright¬ 
ened cry, the trunk cover was banged shut, 
and Christine was back on her chair, all in the 
twinkling of an eye. 

“A great big fellow!” gasped Christine, 
“curled up in my clean white skirt! Ugh, the 
horrid thing! Where’s a stone?” 

She reached for a missile, and the useful 
trunk-opener at the same time. 

“Wait a minute, Christine,” said her 
Mother. “Supposing we miss him when he 
slips out? They go very fast, you know.” 

“What’s up?” called Drew’s clear voice 
behind them. “What giddy stunt are you 
rehearsing?” 

The three were off their chairs at the first 
sound, and Mrs. Davidson tried, but quite un¬ 
successfully, to appear her usual serene digni¬ 
fied self, pleased to see her menfolk back. 

Christine rapidly sketched the situation, 
and Drew leaned against a tree helpless with 
laughter. 


138 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

“ Mother, I’ll give you anything I possess, 
my precious red tie, my best fishing-rod, my 
camera, if you’ll get back on that chair long 
enough to let me snap you.” He held out 
his camera persuasively, but Mrs. Davidson, 
whose cheeks were pink, refused to be bribed. 

“ Get the horrid thing away quickly, Drew, 
dear,” she said. “I don’t want Peggy to see it, 
or hear about it, and the children may be home 
any minute now — we waited too long. Where 
is your father?” 

“Dad’s getting ice for the fish we caught,” 
answered Drew, opening the lid of the trunk. 
“Now don’t squeal, Chris, come and look, and 
you, too, Joyce. There’s nothing to be afraid 
of.” 

If he wanted to bring Joyce promptly, he 
knew how to do it. She lifted her head at that 
word “afraid,” and was beside the trunk in a 
moment. 

Mrs. Davidson gave one hasty glance at the 
contents of the trunk, and went down to meet 
her husband. 

“ A fox snake,” said Drew, poking the white 
skirt aside. “Perfectly harmless, poor fellow, 
and a beauty! Look at those markings! ” 

Joyce looked, but could feel no enthusiasm 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 139 


for the intricate diamond-shaped patterning 
on the snake’s back. Instead, as she saw his 
wicked-looking eyes, she turned white and 
shuddered. Christine gave a little stifled 
cry. 

“Now, look here,” said Drew emphati¬ 
cally. “You’re both being perfectly silly. I’m 
ashamed of you, Chris. I s’pose I’ve got to 
kill him. If you could just take hold of him 
after he’s dead in a good firm grasp, you’d 
never be frightened again of a snake.” 

“Good gracious me! No!” cried Christine. 
“I’d die before I’d touch him. And I’ve got 
to run right now, and put the fire on for lunch¬ 
eon.” 

Joyce stood silently a little way off, pretend¬ 
ing to pick blueberries, but in reality watching 
Drew seize the snake by the tail, whirl him 
around through the air, crack his head smack 
against the rock, and throw him down by the 
old ice-house. 

“There, he’ll be safe until after luncheon,” 
said Drew. “I want to fill the refrigerator 
first. I’ll bury him afterwards, unless you’d 
like to get up a first-class funeral, Joyce? We 
might let you be the undertaker.” 

“ More in your line,” she returned. “I’ll be 


140 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


chief mourner. You’re just in time; there come 
Peggy and Dick now.” 

Drew went off to wash his hands, and, 
moved by a sudden impulse, Joyce ran swiftly 
over the rocks in the direction in which Drew 
had thrown the snake. 

Yes, there he lay — ugly — detestably ugly! 
How could any one admire anything in him! 

Joyce drew a long breath. It was hateful, 
hateful, to be afraid of anything! If a mo¬ 
ment’s misery or torture could make it impos¬ 
sible ! 

She stooped; the snake twisted in a mus¬ 
cular spasm, and then lay still again. Joyce 
set her lips, grasped the snake firmly in her 
right hand, threw him with all her might some 
ten feet away, and ran back to the bungalow as 
if pursued, quite oblivious to the fact that 
Drew, who had decided to bury the snake first, 
after all, was an interested observer of this last 
act in the little drama. 

He had come into view just as Joyce had 
stooped, and an odd impulse of instinctive 
delicacy warned him that he must not betray 
his presence. 

“Well —!” he said slowly, when Joyce had 
disappeared. “ Girls are — the dickens! They’ll 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A SNAKE 141 

holler and shiver and fuss with a bit of a snake 
twenty feet away from ’em, and then — do 
this! Sheer grit, that’s what Joyce is — and 
Chris, too, when it comes to a pinch. But 
queer — gee, they’re queer!” 


CHAPTER VIII 
UPS AND DOWNS 

Judith’s suggestion for a pageant was sub¬ 
mitted to a gathering of all the Wahnanee 
young people and received with great applause. 
Various plans were discussed, committees 
named, and, as the time for preparation was 
all too short, Professor Davidson was invited 
to tell them something about the historical 
background that very evening. 

His brief address had the unlooked-for result 
of shortening considerably their first schemes 
for a programme. 

Christine had been enthusiastically support¬ 
ing the plan for a French Court scene as well 
as for one of the departure of Champlain 
from Quebec, but this, it appeared, was be¬ 
cause she thought Louis XVI and Marie An¬ 
toinette were gracing the French throne at 
that time, and, although she did not aspire to 
be Marie Antoinette, still — a French Court 
lady’s costume would be becoming and pic¬ 
turesque. 

Great was her dismay to find that Marie 


UPS AND DOWNS 


143 


Antoinette did not appear on the scenes for 
some one hundred and fifty years or more, and 
that the young King Louis XIII had not yet 
been married when Champlain set out on the 
voyage which was to end in the discovery of 
Lake Huron; and, moreover, that the queen 
dowager was the wicked Marie de Medici. 
There were difficulties, too, in the way of rep¬ 
resenting properly a farewell scene at Quebec, 
and Professor Davidson advised them to un¬ 
dertake only the landing of Champlain in 
Georgian Bay, and his farewell to the Indians. 
This, he said, done well, would take all the 
time they had to spare. 

Christine and Charlotte looked at each 
other dolefully as this last was decided upon. 

“Don’t forget what your father said about 
Elizabethan England, Chris,” said Joyce com¬ 
fortingly. “Elizabethan costumes are lovely.” 

Christine beamed, and said quickly, “Hur¬ 
rah — I didn’t take that in altogether — of 
course Dad did say that Queen Elizabeth was 
reigning in England just before this. I was so 
disappointed about those Louis XVI costumes, 
I couldn’t think of anything else.” 

“ Shouldn’t have any difficulty about cos¬ 
tumes for the party,” observed Hugh, who had 


144 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


joined the group. “Mother thinks we’d better 
not have any Indian costumes, so we’ll have 
to draw on England and France.” 

“But if Queen Elizabeth was dead when 
Champlain came down this bay, then we can’t 
include her, can we?” said Alison, who was 
very literal, 

“What was the date of King James’s ac¬ 
cession?” asked Charlotte. “Let’s ask your 
father, Chris.” 

But Professor Davidson had already gone 
up the river in the red canoe, for he was hop¬ 
ing for an hour or two’s fishing toward sun¬ 
down. 

“Doesn’t anybody know?” asked Christine 
mournfully. 

“ 1603,1 think,” said Noel. “I had to learn 
all the dates of the English kings when I was a 
youngster. I tell you, I’ll slip over and get a 
history book. I’ve got a European history up 
here. You people settle the cast for the pageant 
while I’m gone, and then we can choose char¬ 
acters for the party afterwards.” 

Noel was back long before the others were 
ready for him, but finally Hugh was prevailed 
upon to take the part of Champlain, Ted 
Morton that of Father Le Caron, and to the 


UPS AND DOWNS 145 

other boys were assigned the various roles of 
Frenchmen and Indians in the little scene. 

Noel was then bombarded with questions, 
and although no one would tell what his or her 
costume was to be, leading questions as to 
Shakespeare’s, Catherine de Medici’s, Mary, 
Queen of Scots’, and Pilgrim Fathers’ dates, 
gave clues as to the desires of certain members 
of the camp. Any historical character who 
lived within twenty-five years of 1615 was to 
be eligible. 

“ Cousin Edith has a dress which I think will 
do for me,” said Joyce as they went home for 
supper. “Yes, I’m sure it will — great luck 
for me, not having to make one. I’ll ask her to 
wire Mrs. Travers to unpack it and send it 
straight up here, and that will give me more 
time for the Indian girls’ costumes^it will take 
ages to fringe enough brown cotton.” 

“Do you think you’ll get the dress in time?” 
asked Judith. “There’s many a slip 4 twixt the 
cup and the lip,’ you know, and it’s a long 
way from here to Boston.” 

“Nearly two weeks until the party,” said 
Joyce, rather coldly. “That’s heaps of time, I 
should think.” She didn’t like Judith’s tone. 
Was it, or was it not, a shade patronizing? 


146 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Did Judith think she was the only person who 
could organize anything successfully? Well, 
she would see! 

“I think I’ll take a leaf out of your book, 
Joyce, if you’ve no objections,” said Judith, as 
Sputter ceased “sputting” and drew up at 
Ken-jockety’s wharf. “I’ve such millions of 
things to do that I believe I’ll borrow a costume, 
too. Aunt Nell offered me a Mary Stuart one 
when she was here last week, but I thought I’d 
go as a Breton peasant. However, I won’t de¬ 
cide until Nancy comes. She’ll be here to¬ 
morrow — seems too good to be true. Come 
over to-morrow evening, won’t you? I do 
want you to meet her.” 

Joyce and Christine were kneeling on the 
rocks in front of the chalet a few mornings 
later rinsing their washing — every one did 
some of his or her personal laundry at Ken- 
jockety — when Mrs. Davidson came down 
the path with the living-room curtains in her 
arms. 

“Ready just in a moment, Mumsy — there, 
that’s my second pair of stockings — better 
count yours, Joyce, little things are apt to 
float away. I found one of Charlotte’s stock- 


UPS AND DOWNS 147 

ings caught against our dock one morning; it 
had gayly sailed across.” 

“Talking of hosiery makes me think of 
Champlain’s Court costume that Uncle 
Graeme read us about yesterday,” said Joyce, 
plunging in a handful of handkerchiefs, and 
giving a fair imitation of the working of an 
electric washer by swishing the said kerchiefs 
vigorously through the water. “I wish Drew 
had been nominated to be Champlain: he’d 
have looked nice in ruffles, sky-blue hose and 
knee-breeches, and a hat with a plume.” 

“ He was nominated,” said Christine prompt¬ 
ly, “ but he has so many things to look after as 
chairman that he wouldn’t accept — besides, 
it wouldn’t look well, would it, for the chair¬ 
man to be the chief character? He’s going to be 
one of the Indian braves. Mother’s making him 
a headdress of those heron feathers we found 
the day — all right, Mummy, I’m coming.” 

Christine fled up to the chalet, and when 
Joyce entered a little later she found her ar¬ 
rayed in the curtains — that is to say, Mrs. 
Davidson was pinning them on to an old muslin 
frock that Christine had donned. 

“I think we can manage it,” Mrs. Davidson 
was saying; “the pattern will give an effect of 


148 ' CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


brocade — I have had to cut up one of the 
cushion covers for the tight little bodice, and 
you must have a big ruff — I’ll leave that to 
you and Joyce to manufacture. It’s a blessing 
that the skirts of the sixteenth century were so 
simple. Have you heard from your Cousin 
Edith yet, Joyce?” 

“No, Aunt Fran,” answered Joyce. “I 
ought to have a letter to-night. Is there any¬ 
thing I can do to help while I wait for Peggy? 
We are going over to the Huntleys’ to give 
Nora an extra practice — she’s very stupid and 
so clumsy — I can’t see why she’s in the dance 
at all — she hasn’t a notion of what rhythm 
means.” 

“I’ll give you a seam to sew in a moment, 
thank you,” said Mrs. Davidson, surveying 
Christine from another angle and altering a 
line not to her liking. “And about Nora — I 
hope you’ll be especially patient with her, dear; 
you see she was very ill when a little tot, and 
she’s not been able to keep up with the other 
children, never taken part in the Christmas 
entertainments at the kindergarten or any¬ 
thing of that sort. It will mean a great deal, to 
Nora’s mother, and to me, Joy, if Nora can 
take part with the other children.” 


149 


UPS AND DOWNS 

"Then Nora shall practice every day under 
my personal supervision, Aunt Fran,” said 
Joyce firmly. “I’m sure we can help her — 
and even if she does do it wrongly — why, who 
cares?” 

But Mrs. Davidson knew that Joyce would 
care — care very much; she intended that that 
little dance should be just as perfect as pos¬ 
sible; she also knew that Joyce meant that 
mothers were too precious to be hurt if she 
could help it, and the look of appreciation that 
went from the calm blue eyes to the brilliant 
gray ones was full of motherly understanding 
and tenderness. 

“Gray Goose arrive!” yelled Dicky sud¬ 
denly from behind the pine-tree beside the 
chalet, and, delightedly observing their start 
of surprise, he ended with a war-whoop which 
was intended to live up to a Fenimore Cooper 
hero’s best. 

“I’m a Pottawattamie!” he yelled. “Out of 
the way of my tomahawk!” 

Joyce and Christine covered their ears, and 
flinched before the swinging tomahawk in a 
fashion highly gratifying to the brave. 

“Ask Judy to come up here, please,” said 
Christine, “and, Dick, you can’t be a Potta- 


150 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

wattamie in the pageant; they didn’t live here. 
You’ll have to be an Ojibway or some sort of 
Huron.” 

“Won’t,” said Dicky. “Won’t.” He war- 
whooped again. 

“Mother,” said Christine earnestly as her 
mother fitted on the bodice, “he can’t, can 
he?” 

“Why not?” said Mrs. Davidson serenely, 
stepping back to get a view of her work. “I 
wish these curtains had been a little longer, 
but then we didn’t count on doing this with 
them. I don’t suppose the Pottawattamies 
dressed very differently from the Hurons. 
I’m certain people won’t know the difference 
unless we tell them, and for some reason or 
other the name seems to attract him. It is a 
nice word, isn’t it? I could rather fancy being 
a Pottawattamie myself.” 

“But Daddy said we were to be as histori¬ 
cally accurate as possible,” objected Christine. 
“And Dicky’s getting awfully rude, Mum. He 
just seems to try to be noisy. I believe he jars 
on Judy and Nancy.” 

“Possibly he does,” said Dicky’s mother, 
laughing at Christine’s solemn countenance. 
“He jars on me sometimes, too. I rather wish 


151 


UPS AND DOWNS 

the pageant didn’t have to have Indians in it. 
It’s much harder for little boys —” (Dicky’s 
voice is heard outside again.) “No, Dicky, 
don’t go up past the study, Daddy’s busy — 
no, you can’t have anything to eat. You’ve 
just finished breakfast — well, tighten your 
belt, that’s the way Indian braves did — and, 
Dicky, they were usually quiet; remember how 
they crept about? It was only occasionally 
they war-whooped.” 

Dicky, who had been entreating his mother 
for “just one cooky,” went off toward the 
boat-house with exaggerated precautions for 
silence, and with his next whoop was able to 
obtain a frightened start from Judith and 
Nancy who had not seen him coming. 

Judith ran lightly down the path to the 
chalet; she looked like the bearer of good news, 
and indeed she could hardly wait to unfold a 
thrilling plan: 

“I wanted to get Nancy out of the way while 
we discussed it, so as to surprise her. Dicky 
has taken her to see a nest. She’s just had a 
letter from her brother Jack, saying that he 
and his chum, Tom, who’ve been up in Mus- 
koka, are planning to leave Bala next Wednes¬ 
day or Thursday and paddle down the river. 


152 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

We meant to take Nancy for a two or three 
days’ camping-trip while she was here, and Dad 
wants to try the fishing in Little Bass Lake, and 
this seems a good opportunity to go up and 
meet the boys, and Mother says, ‘Yes, if Aunt 
Frances, will let Chris and Joyce go.’ Aunt 
Fran, you couldn’t possibly say no!” 

“Oh, Mum, of course you’ll just have to say 
yes! You know we wanted Joyce to have a 
camping expedition, and I’m simply crazy to 
go.” 

Christine began to dance about the room 
flinging her arms about Judith, and her 
mother, then whirling Joyce about to the un¬ 
doing of some of her draperies, which, being 
held with pins only, were not sufficiently se¬ 
cure for violent exercise. 

“How would you like it, Joyce?” asked Mrs. 
Davidson, after she had captured Christine, 
and commanded her to keep still on pain of 
having to hold the pins in her mouth. 

“I’d love it,” said Joyce fervently; “that is,, 
if you think I wouldn’t be a bother — I know I 
a tenderfoot is not always a welcome addition 
to a camping party.” 

“I don’t think we need consider you a ten¬ 
derfoot now,” said Mrs. Davidson, smiling. 


UPS AND DOWNS 


1 53 


“Drew pronounced you ‘a very decent hand 
with a paddle’ the other day, didn’t he? That 
is praise from him. Well, Judith — Christine, 
don’t you begin to jiggle again, or these pins 
will certainly stick into you — I’ll talk it over 
with Uncle Graeme, but I don’t see now any 
reason why they can’t go.” 

“Goody!” shouted the irrepressible Chris¬ 
tine. “Let’s go right up and get Dad now, 
Judy — I’ll never forgive him if —” 

“Not until twelve o’clock,” warned her 
mother. “How large a party do you plan, 
Judith?” 

“We hoped Chris, Joyce, Uncle Graeme, 
and Drew would come, and Dad and Nancy 
and myself. That would mean three canoes. 
We could go halfway up, and then Dad and 
Uncle Graeme could have a day’s fishing. 
We’d meet the boys and come home the third 
day. If the pageant is next Tuesday as we 
plan, then we could leave for Muskoka, say, 
Thursday, and be home Saturday evening.” 

“And then the regatta comes the following 
Thursday,” chanted Christine. “What a 
gorgeous two weeks we are going to have! 
Mother, are you through fitting me? Let’s 
make a list of what we’ll have to take, Judy, 
until Nancy comes back.” 


154 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

Joyce got pencil and paper while Christine 
changed. 

“Let’s each make a list of what we think 
we’ll need,” suggested Judith. “Then we can 
check each other’s omissions.” 

They wrote busily for a few minutes; 
Nancy appeared, and the plan must be ex¬ 
plained to her and her joyful consent obtained. 

A burst of laughter greeted their first 
glance at the three lists: they were each 
headed, “Bacon.” 

“Well, it’s no wonder — I can’t imagine 
camping without bacon, can you?” said Chris¬ 
tine. 

“Or coffee,” said Nancy. “I was once on a 
trip where tiny little red ants got into the bag 
of coffee the first day out. We almost turned 
back; Father never ceased to moan about it; 
he said camping and large mugs of coffee were 
synonymous.” 

“ We’d better have two bags of coffee,” said 
practical Christine. “Drew had a lot of little 
cotton bags for supplies in his camping-kit. 
Joyce, you haven’t seen that kit yet, have you? 
It’s too sweet for words: all the pans and 
things fit into each other in the cunningest 
fashion, and the salt-shaker has salt in one end 


155 


UPS AND DOWNS 

and pepper in the other, and everything is 
made of aluminum.” 

“Including the salt, I suppose,” said Judith 
severely. “Pinch her, please, Joy, if she starts 
again. Where were we? Bread, salt, figs, and 
dates — that’s a good idea, Chris. I’ll bring 
some salad dressing and a tongue, and I’ll get 
Dad to bring a first-aid kit, so you needn’t 
bother about that.” 

There was a little more discussion as to what 
they had better wear, and what bedding 
and sleeping-tents would be needed, and then 
Judith and Nancy got into the Gray Goose and 
headed for Long Point. 

Christine went promptly back to the chalet 
to sew on her costume, but Joyce sat lazily on 
the wharf watching the Gray Goose puffing 
her way importantly across the bay. 

She had ever so many things to think 
about: this expedition to Muskoka would be 
fun; Nancy Naim seemed to be a dear — 
how happy Judy looked! She should have 
asked Judy about the costumes for the little 
Indian maidens — perhaps Aunt Fran could 
help with them. What a trump Aunt Fran 
was! If Aunt Fran wanted her, as well as 
Christine, to be patient with Dicky, then she 


156 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


would be, that was all there was to it — 
though he was provoking; she’d be an angel to 
Dicky if Aunt Fran wished it! 

This high resolve lasted for the rest of the 
morning. 

After luncheon Christine took her shopping 
list to consult with her mother about one or 
two items, and Joyce decided that she had 
time, before the supply-boat was due, to iron a 
couple of middy blouses while the irons were 
hot. 

Dicky was groaning loudly because he still 
had to prepare the vegetables for dinner. 

Joyce disliked ironing; she had done so little 
that she felt awkward and slow about it; and it 
was hot, very hot, in the kitchen. However, 
the blouses had to be done, so she began at 
once, and soon had one ready to put out on the 
veranda in the sun. 

Dicky continued to complain bitterly. 

“Cricky! I hate doing new potatoes! And 
carrots!” 

He raised his voice and called in his loudest, 
most piercing tones, 44 How many bunches 
of carrots, Chris? Three? Aw — no fair— 
they’re huge bunches!” 

He threw the last potato with such violence 


UPS AND DOWNS 157 

into the pot of water that he splashed the 
freshly ironed middy. 

Joyce felt a sudden wave of anger. 

“Stop that!” she said crossly to Dicky. 
“Why didn’t you look where you were throw¬ 
ing that water? Now I’ll have to iron it again.” 

Dicky didn’t like being scolded any more 
than he liked doing potatoes. 

“Sorry,” he said perfunctorily; and then he 
added impishly, looking from the bunch of 
carrots in his hand up to Joyce’s ruddy hair. 
“ Sorry — carrots! ” 

Ordinarily Joyce would have grinned with 
him, or have ignored his remark, but the inno¬ 
cent little word was seemingly like a match to 
gunpowder now. Her eyes and cheeks blazed, 
and she seized Dicky’s shoulder in a grasp that 
hurt. 

“Aw, stop it!” he cried, wriggling himself 
free. “You needn’t be so cross, if you have got 
red hair. I was just going to say it wasn’t very 
polite of Chris to have carrots again this week, 
so as to remind you of your hair.” 

“Leave my hair alone,” said Joyce in an 
angry voice. 

“Dicky,” called Mrs. Davidson from within, 
“come here a moment.” 


158 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Dicky, looking defiant, disappeared into the 
living-room. 

Joyce returned to the kitchen with her wet 
middy, where she could hear Mrs. Davidson’s 
low tones and then Dicky’s piercing whisper. 

“ Well, I ain’t sorry. What’d she get so mad 
for? She gets mad at anything. Well, her hair 
is red — fierce red.” 

Joyce thumped the iron down on the poor 
unoffending middy with such vigor that she 
did not hear any more, but evidently Mrs. 
Davidson had succeeded in making her side of 
the matter clear, for, as Joyce left the kitchen 
to take her clean clothes down to the chalet, 
Dicky opened the screen-door for her, and said 
awkwardly and all in one breath, “I beg your 
pardon, like me to carry ’em down? Chris says 
to please go down to the wharf, Charlotte’s 
there.” 

“ Don’t mention it,” said Joyce in icy tones. 
“No, thank you. I’ll take them myself, and 
I’m not coming down to the wharf nor going 
to the supply-boat.” 

Dicky looked aghast. Imagine being so 
“mad” as to miss the delights of the Ojibway’s 
ice-cream cones! 

Joyce threw her clean clothes into the chalet 


UPS AND DOWNS 159 

and hurried along the shore away from the 
wharf. 

She was almost running now as if trying to 
get away from her own angry self, and, as the 
way was not smooth at this end of the island, 
she was enraged even by the rocks over which 
she occasionally stumbled. On the western 
side of the island, the granite was twisted into 
odd shapes, and great boulders were piled up 
at the water’s edge. 

She w^as still walking swiftly, nearer the 
shore, jumping from rock to rock, and begin¬ 
ning, at the bottom of her heart, to be ashamed 
of her childishness, when one of the stones on 
which she stepped, turned over, and, so sud¬ 
denly that she could hardly believe it to be 
true, she found herself in the water. 

She gave a startled cry of surprise, rolled 
over in the water, climbed out on the other 
side of the shallow basin-like depression in the 
rock, hesitated for a moment whether to rage 
or laugh, and decided on the latter. Her ring¬ 
ing laughter was answered by a rustling in the 
bushes near by, a call of “Who’s there?” and 
the unlooked-for appearance of Drew. 

“What’s up?” he called. “Where’s Chris?” 

“At the wharf with Charlotte,” said Joyce, 


160 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


still laughing. “ Nothing’s up, but Tm down — 
rolled right down into that bath there.” 

“Gave me a start,” said Drew, sitting down 
and fanning himself with his hat. “I thought 
you were a loon at first, and then I thought one 
of the kids had fallen in.” 

Joyce laughed again. 

“Thanks! So that’s what my silvery 
laughter sounds like. But I was a loon, just 
exactly that. I was fearfully wrathy with 
Dicky; he said my hair was red — and it is — 
and I rushed out and didn’t look where I was 
going. Wish I didn’t have such a rotten tem¬ 
per, but I’ve always had it, and I s’pose I al¬ 
ways shall. Cousin Edith says it just natur¬ 
ally goes with hair like mine.” 

Drew didn’t laugh as she had expected, and 
Joyce added: “But I get over it quickly — es¬ 
pecially if it’s washed out.” She began to laugh 
again, as she tried to wring the water out of 
her streaming clothes. 

“Aren’t you going shopping with Chris?” 
asked Drew. “ It must be nearly boat-time.” 

“No,” said Joyce; “that is, yes, if I have 
time to change these wet rags.” 

She felt a curious reluctance to join Chris¬ 
tine and Charlotte, Aunt Frances and Dicky, 


UPS AND DOWNS 


161 


down at the wharf. But it was made very easy 
for her. No one seemed to have remembered 
the happenings of the last hour. 

They had a merry time at the boat. There 
were ever so many delightful details to be 
discussed and arranged for the pageant, the 
camping-trip, and the regatta. 

Christine chattered all the way home and 
later at the dinner-table, and only ceased her 
happy scattering of superlatives and exclam¬ 
ations to bury herself in “A Tale of Two 
Cities,” which thrilling story entirely satisfied 
her romantic soul. 

The rest of the family set off in Sputter to 
visit the Kingstons, but Joyce elected to stay 
with Christine and read. But never had she felt 
less like reading. She took her book down to 
the wharf and settled herself comfortably in a 
canvas chair, but after reading the first page 
twice and then, finding that she hadn’t an idea 
what it was all about, she flung the book down, 
jumped to her feet, and looked around her for 
something to do. She longed for a swift canter 
on Bijou, or a run in Piggy’s racing car. She 
stretched her arms out to the breeze which 
was lifting her hair. 

“Next time I come up here I’ll have my 


162 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


own private aeroplane, see if I don’t,” she said 
aloud. “Wouldn’t it be splendid! I’ve got to 
learn to fly!” 

Her eye fell on Comet rocking restlessly in 
the breeze. 

Like a flash she jumped down and began to 
put up the sail. 

“Better call Chris,” said a tiny voice deep 
down within her. 

“Uncle Graeme said I could manage Comet 
now.” 

“Yes, but you know that he didn’t in¬ 
tend. . .” 

But Joyce was busy adjusting the tiller and 
paid no heed. 

Away she went! 

She held on to the sheet as if a hurricane 
might at any moment blow her out to the open, 
but Comet slid lightly and gracefully over the 
top of the waves toward the Whalebacks. So 
she released her hold on sheet and tiller, and 
began to enjoy herself thoroughly. 

The waves were bigger as she neared the 
Whalebacks, for here there was an open stretch 
of water where the wind had a good sweep. 
Joyce’s eyes sparkled, and her cheeks glowed. 

I d like to sing the ‘Marseillaise’ or some- 


163 


UPS AND DOWNS 

thing like that,” she said to herself. “ Perhaps 
it might upset Comet. I shall never want to 
ride in a motor-boat again. Whoa, Comet, not 
quite so fast.” 

Then she saw that the wet black sides of the 
Whalebacks were looming very large and near; 
they seemed to have grown monstrous since the 
last time she was out. Suppose Comet refused 
to obey when she gave the sign for “About”! 

But rudder and sail worked together like 
magic, and away went Comet skimming over 
the bay again. 

“Better head for Ken-jockety now,” said 
the patient little voice within. “You’ve had 
a nice sail, and no harm done.” 

But Joyce was full of triumph and pride. 
She had heard Christine say only yesterday 
that the channel between the Huntleys’ island 
and the Mortons’ point was difficult to navi¬ 
gate, because it was so long and narrow — one 
had to make so many tacks. 

66 Eh bien!” said Joyce to herself. “Comet 
and I are going home by way of the Mortons’ 
channel — I saw how Uncle Graeme did it the 
other day — and then I shall say casually to 
Chris, 4 Did you say the Mortons’ channel was 
difficult? I didn’t find it so.’” 


164 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

The color was fading from the sky, and when 
Comet turned her back on the sunset in order 
to enter the channel, Joyce looked around in 
surprise. The waves were much larger here in 
the channel than she could have imagined with 
such a wind. Big, sullen, dark waves, they 
were. A tiny wish that she had gone home by 
the easier route was sternly repressed by a 
Joyce who was keenly alert now, and ready to 
put into practice *11 that her teachers had 
shown her. 

She headed for a little crooked pine-tree 
that grew down on the cliff in a tiny crevice, 
and made her first tack in safety. 

Now for that big boulder. That surely was 
Uncle Graeme’s second mark. 

Comet turned obediently, but as she neared 
the rock she wavered suddenly, the sail flap¬ 
ping uncertainly; Joyce set her lips, gave the 
tiller an extra hard pull, and around came 
Comet once more. 

Now where was the third mark? As far as 
she could remember, it was a streak of white 
quartz in the granite cliff. It should be there 
— no, a little farther on. Well, she’d have to 
tack now. 

But again Comet wavered, again the sail 


UPS AND DOWNS 


165 


flapped, again Joyce gave an extra hard pull 
on the rudder, which evoked this time only a 
pronounced wavering in Comet. Another pull. 
They were drifting now with the big waves, 
drifting steadily toward those big cruel-looking 
rocks. 

Frantically Joyce searched her mind. Had 
she forgotten any rule or precept? 

No; she could think of nothing she had left 
undone. 

“Well, if Comet is smashed, and I’m 
drowned, I’m sorry about not having permis¬ 
sion— but I’ve had a gorgeous time trying!” 
And with the thought, bang went Comet 
against the rocks, bang went the center-board 
against a reef, and the tiller fell useless in her 
hand. 

Joyce was helpless now. No, not quite. She 
seized a paddle which was in its place at the 
side of the boat, and tried to keep Comet from 
the rocks. Every ounce of muscle and skill she 
had she used, but she soon saw that it was a 
losing fight. 

It was dark now. The lights far off in the 
cottages were twinkling like friendly little 
stars. That must be the Mortons’ cottage over 
there. She would have to call for help. But, 


166 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


oh , how she hated to do it! And they probably 
would not hear her! 

With the thought came a sudden sickening 
realization of the anxiety she was causing 
Christine and the others — they would prob¬ 
ably be home by now. 

“I ought to be drowned,” she thought de¬ 
spairingly. “Why didn't I think!” 

Just then, to her enormous relief, she heard 
the “Chug, chug, chug” of a motor-boat, and, 
as it came close, the engine stopped, and 
Hugh’s voice called, “Hi, there! Anybody 
want a tow?” 

“Thanks very much,” said Joyce in a voice 
which she tried to make casual. “The breeze 
is rather uncertain, and squally in here, isn’t 
it?” 

Hugh paddled the big boat alongside, jumped 
aboard, hauled in the sail and secured the 
rudder, made Comet fast to the towdine, 
helped Joyce into the Arrow, and jumped in 
after her, all to the accompaniment of a cease¬ 
less flow of talk. 

Joyce laughed gayly at his nonsense, but 
her heart sank as she saw the two lanterns 
bobbing about at Ken-jockety’s wharf. 

“I thought I had a bad moment in the 


UPS AND DOWNS 167 

channel,” she said to herself, “but this is going 
to be much worse.” 

“Everybody all right and quite happy,” 
called Hugh as they neared the wharf. “ Hello, 
Drew! Did you get that birch bark?” 

| Professor Davidson helped Joyce out and 
she spoke to him first of all. 

“I’m sorry, Uncle Graeme,” she said slowly, 
“ sorrier than I can say — I knew I ought not 
to go alone.” 

Then she turned to the others. 

“Chris, I’m frightfully sorry — Aunt Fran, 
I hope you haven’t been home long — I can’t 
make any excuses — there’s just no use trust¬ 
ing me.” 

She hated to meet Aunt Fran’s eyes, those 
eyes which had been so full of motherly un¬ 
derstanding and love that very morning. Was 
it only this morning that she had been promis¬ 
ing herself to be patient with Dicky ? — and — 
oh, what was the use of trying! 

She looked up, her own eyes so dark with 
misery, that Aunt Fran, being an understand¬ 
ing person, put her arms around the tense 
young figure, cuddled the red-gold head under 
her chin, and said softly: 

“It was wrong of you to go without telling 


168 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

Chris, dear — mercifully she was lost in her 
book most of the time, but, oh, we’re so glad to 
have you home again safe and sound.” 

Joyce relaxed in those loving arms. “Moth¬ 
ers,” she said to herself fiercely, “mothers are 
-— are — gorgeous 1 ” 


CHAPTER IX 
A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 

Joyce gave a little groan as Christine tried to 
waken her by giving her a slight shake. 

“What’s the matter, Joy?” asked Christine, 
anxiously bending over her. Surely Joyce 
couldn’t be ill on the very day of the pageant! 

Joyce rubbed her eyes and sat up. 

“ So it isn’t raining,” she observed, blinking 
at the pools of sunlight on the floor. 

“Are you sure you are all right?” protested 
Christine. “You groaned and looked so un¬ 
happy.” 

“I was unhappy,” said Joyce solemnly. “I 
thought it was pouring rain, and the dye was 
running out of the children’s dresses, and they 
looked so bedraggled and funny, and nobody 
was keeping step with anybody else, and slow 
little Nora was dancing a Highland fling all by 
herself — if that isn’t enough to make any¬ 
body groan!” 

“I thought at first that perhaps you were 
ill, or that maybe you were feeling badly about 
your dress not coming last night,” said Chris- 


170 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

tine, pulling the curtain and getting into her 
bathing-suit. 

“You know very well that I’m never ill,” 
said Joyce, springing out of bed, and seizing 
her bathing-suit. “It’s a nuisance about the 
costume. Perhaps it will come down by this 
morning’s boat from Parry Sound, but if it 
doesn’t, I shan’t worry about that. I’ve a 
number of other things to worry about, if I’ve 
really decided to include worrying in my morn¬ 
ing’s programme. Oh, Chris! what an ex¬ 
quisite morning! — so blue and golden and 
‘heavenly fair.’ One, two — ouch, it’s cold!” 

“I’ll take you over in Sputter to see if the 
Keewah brought your parcel, Joy,” said Drew 
as they went down to the boat-house after 
breakfast. “ But I don’t know whether I can 
come away immediately, we have a good 
many last things to do — the wigwams have 
to be set up — and —” 

“Thank you, Drew,” said Joyce. “I know 
you are frightfully busy, and so is everybody. 
If you’ll look to see if the Keewah brought me 
a parcel from Boston, and bring it home at 
luncheon if it’s there, I’ll be much obliged. 
We’re going to have a rehearsal with the 
children here, and Nora will need some extra 


A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 171 

coaching, I expect. If my costume doesn’t 
come, I’ll go in my Japanese kimono with a 
paper flower in my hair. I’m sure Mrs. Daw¬ 
son and Hugh will forgive me when they know 
I tried to go suitably attired as Priscilla 
Alden.” 

“So that’s what you were planning,” said 
Christine, greatly interested. “You’ve giv£n 
yourself away now.” 

“Not ‘suitably,’ I should say,” teased 
Drew. “I can’t imagine you as Priscilla, nor 
yet as a Japanese lady — Queen Elizabeth 
now — that would be much more in keeping 
with — the color of your hair.” 

“And temperament — shall we say?” in¬ 
quired Joyce like a flash, remembering the 
great Queen’s ungovernable rages. Drew’s 
momentary pause had not been lost on her. 

“ Heaven forbid,” said Drew promptly. 
“You forget the Queen’s treatment of her 
most loyal, loving courtiers.” He swept her an 
exaggerated bow. “Nay, madam, an ’twere » 
so, I should go in terror of my life.” 

“Drew,” said Christine earnestly as he 
stepped down into Sputter, “do keep an eye on 
Dicky if you can; I wish the committee hadn’t 
chosen him to be in the tableau for the photo- 


172 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


graph; he’s sure to ruin it; being a Pottawat¬ 
tamie seems to have gone to his head.” 

“ He’ll be all right,” said Drew serenely, 
proceeding to test Sputter’s uncertain temper. 

“That’s what Dad and Mother say,” said 
Christine reproachfully; “and they know, and 
you know very well he isn't always all right.” 

“There, there, Old Lady,” said Drew, grin¬ 
ning. “Is she worried and shamed by her 
family, then? Gee, it’s a quarter to nine, and I 
promised Judy I’d be there at nine sharp. I’ll 
keep an eye on Dicky — so-long, everybody.” 

“There are Nora and Froggy coming al¬ 
ready,” said Joyce as she turned to go up to 
the house. “ Nora is determined to be on time 
*— if not in time.” 

They spent a busy morning, for there were 
many last things to do; even Professor David¬ 
son had been enlisted, and helped his wife 
squeeze lemons for the lemonade which was to 
be sold after the entertainment. 

It was late before they sat down to luncheon, 
and they were just about to leave the table, 
when Drew appeared ravenously hungry and in 
the highest spirits. 

“Have you got it?” Christine asked him 
eagerly. 


A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 173 

“It? Now isn’t that like a girl?” Drew said 
provokingly. “Do you mean the birch canoe 
I’ve spent the morning patching, or Ted’s tom¬ 
ahawk, or Hugh’s arquebus, or the peace pipe, 
or Dicky’s bow and arrow, or the tent-floors we 
lugged over for you girls to dance on, or —” 

“The parcel,” said Joyce and Christine to¬ 
gether. 

“No, Joyce; I’m awfully sorry, there was 
nothing for you on the boat. I asked the bag¬ 
gageman to have an extra look, but he reported 
‘nothing doing.’” 

Christine looked more disappointed than 
Joyce. 

“If only we had a little more time,” she 
mourned, “we could easily make you a Pris¬ 
cilla costume, but I don’t see how we’re going 
to do it.” 

“We’re not going to try,” said Joyce 
firmly. “It would just spoil the day; and I’ve 
a perfectly good Japanese kimono, so don’t 
let’s think about it.” 

“Professor Greer is going to read the poem 
on Champlain which he composed for the Ter¬ 
centenary,” announced Drew, “and Dr. King¬ 
ston is going to bring his big camera and take 
some shots at us.” 


174 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

“ Oh, is he?” said Christine in an interested 
tone. “He does take beautiful pictures: prob¬ 
ably some of them will be printed in the To¬ 
ronto and Montreal papers.” 

“I was trying to tell them about it,” said 
Dicky disgustedly, “but they wouldn’t listen 
to me. I’m going to stand up on the high rock 
and shoot with my bow ’n’ arrow in one of the 
pictures.” 

“He’s got a very important part,” said 
Drew gravely. “He and Froggy have to stand 
absolutely still because they’ll be so promi¬ 
nent.” 

“No reading to-day, I suppose,” said Pro¬ 
fessor Davidson as they rose from the table 
leaving Drew to finish by himself. 

“ Reading!” said every one in various tones 
of horror. “If you knew how much we have to 
do between now and boat-time!” 

It was a time of hurrying and scurrying, but 
very delightful, nevertheless, except perhaps 
to two or three of the committee who were re¬ 
sponsible for the countless little details of prep¬ 
aration upon which hinge the success of such an 
affair. 

By half-past three the bay was dotted with 
motor-boats, canoes, and sail-boats, all heading 


A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 175 

for the Big Dock and Deer Island. A number 
of spectators from neighboring resorts had 
already landed, and, with the parents of the 
performers and other grown-ups, were carry¬ 
ing camp-chairs or cushions to the slopes, 
where they selected vantage-points from which 
they could get a good view of the proceedings 
on Deer Island across the narrow channel; the 
young folk landed on Deer Island, and viewed 
with interest the wigwams which the boys had 
set up that morning. 

There was much chattering and chaffing, a 
scrambling over the rocks and a waving to 
fathers and mothers on the part of the younger 
fry, a hurried delivering of properties to the 
chief actors by the properties’ committee, 
then Drew gave a signal and the results of his 
careful organization were at once apparent. 

Father Le Caron took a prominent position 
in the foreground and began to tell his rosary; 
Joyce and Judith marshaled the Indian maid¬ 
ens behind a screen of trees; the squaws took 
their places in the doorways of the wigwams, 
bending industriously over bead-work or bas¬ 
ket-weaving; the little tots played near by in 
the sand delightfully unconscious of their part 
in the drama, in marked contrast to the braves 


176 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


idling about in the sunshine according to the 
traditional fashion of your Indian warrior at 
his ease with his womenfolk, but looking 
strangely conscious of their war-paint, scanty 
clothing, and strange feather headdresses. 

On the other side of the narrow channel, Dr. 
Kingston set up his camera, and, when he had 
everything to his liking, his sign to Drew was 
promptly answered by Dicky who ran through 
the bushes to a point where he could signal to 
Champlain, hidden with his guides and Indian 
followers around the corner of a big rocky 
cliff, that everything was in readiness for them 
to burst upon the scene, and startle this peace¬ 
ful village into astonishment and amazement. 

Dicky was back in an instant, whispered 
“O.K.” to Drew, ran up to his prominent 
position on the high rock at the extreme right 
of the scene, and, drawing his bow, took up the 
young hunter’s pose. 

It had been agreed that at the signal Ted 
and Noel, who were respectively Champlain’s 
French interpreter and guide, should burst into 
song — a French boating-song — and the In¬ 
dians, bending to their paddles, should come 
around the corner at full speed, so that Cham¬ 
plain might land with a flourish on the chosen 


A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 177 


spot. Ted and Noel had made some difficulty 
about the song — neither of them could keep 
a tune, they had asserted — but Drew had as¬ 
sured them that all they needed to do was to 
make a big noise, “It won’t last long, you 
know,” he had added consolingly. “There 
will be our shouts of welcome to drown your 
discords.” 

It was very peaceful now in the little Indian 
village, very peaceful, and very quiet, horribly 
quiet, almost unbearably quiet. Where was the 
promised gay burst of song? 

Drew confessed afterward that he thought 
he must have acquired the long-desired gift of 
twitching his ears backward or forward at will, 
so hard did he strain to hear the slightest 
whisper of music. 

The squaws began to look anxious, and in 
the silence the laugh of one of the children on 
the shore sounded like the sudden roar of a gun. 

Some of the spectators began openly to crit¬ 
icize the graceful (?) attitudes of the braves. 

The sweat broke out on Drew’s forehead. 

By a sudden intuition he knew what had 
happened. The cracks in the fragile birch- 
bark canoe had given way in spite of all their 
patching! 


178 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


He supposed, he hoped, he prayed, there 
was an extra cahoe handy, but of course the 
idiots probably had only a motor-boat and 
Champlain would have to come in the canoe 
which should have carried his Indian compan¬ 
ions! 

But there was a sudden horrible noise com¬ 
ing from behind the cliff! Ted and Noel had 
burst into song! 

From that moment everything went like 
the proverbial clockwork. 

The birch canoe drew up at the little cove 
with the big war canoes close behind. Two 
banners bearing the lilies of France were 
carried before. 

Champlain, brave in the silk and ruffles of 
the period, and wearing a big hat with a sweep¬ 
ing plume, landed with a flourish, and Le 
Caron (registering enormous surprise) rushed 
to meet him, and was warmly (and damply) 
embraced. The squaws and braves crowded 
about in curiosity to see the wonderful stranger 
more closely. Champlain with a fine dramatic 
gesture knelt and kissed the soil of this newly 
discovered world, then directed that the ban¬ 
ners should be planted, and led his followers in 
the cry of “Vive le roi.” 


A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 179 


“Act I,” said Drew to himself wiping the 
perspiration from his brow and smearing his 
war-paint into fearful and wonderful futuristic 
designs. “I wonder how many people have 
noticed that Champlain’s silk hose are a darker 
shade than they ought to be seeing that he’s 
extremely wet as to his legs, and that the 
brave old birch is rapidly settling down in the 
water. I bet it was a close shave.” 

Act II, the smoking of the pipe of peace, was 
not quite so interesting to the majority of the 
spectators across the channel; all they could 
see was the little fire kindled before the largest 
wigwam, and the peace pipe being solemnly 
smoked and solemnly handed from the chief to 
Champlain, and from Champlain to the braves, 
who each took a puff or two. 

It was well for the patience of all concerned 
that just here the actors did not try to be quite 
historically accurate. Joyce, waiting with the 
other girls behind the screening bushes, re¬ 
membered with dismay Parkman’s description 
of the hours and hours spent by Champlain 
smoking a peace pipe before a parley. 

But the mothers of the braves were not 
at all bored by this slow action, since it gave 
them an opportunity for observing how much 


180 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


straighter were their Tommy’s or Dicky’s 
legs, how much better his headdress of feathers 
suited him, and altogether, how much finer 
and nobler he looked than all the other 
Tommys and Diekys. 

Among the less passionately interested of the 
spectators was a company of youths from a big 
summer hotel farther down the bay, one of 
whom was heard to observe loudly that a little 
music on the tom-tom would put some “pep” 
into the show. Whereat from his vantage- 
point, Dicky, who had sharp ears, and an 
enormous scorn for any one who did not be¬ 
long to Wahnanee, bent his bow and landed 
an arrow skillfully in the midst of the star¬ 
tled group of visitors, who, once they had got¬ 
ten over their surprise, applauded vigorously 
Dicky’s neat retort. 

Drew, just ready to signal Joyce to bring 
forward her maidens and prepare to entertain 
Champlain with a farewell dance, frowned, as 
he heard the applause, and saw that Dicky 
had been diverting attention from the lawful 
center of the scene. Had he done wrongly to 
let Dicky have that prominent post? — but 
Froggy couldn’t stand still for two minutes, 
and Dicky had promised! 


A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 181 

Champlain prepared to embark — this time 
in a painted canoe — but was halted at the 
proper moment by the entrance of the Indian 
maidens who ran down to the beach (the tent 
floors sprinkled with a little sand!), danced for 
his entertainment, and sang a little mournful 
song to express their grief at his departure. 

It was well done. Even the critical white- 
flanneled youths from “down the bay” were 
loud in their praises, and Champlain’s stately 
departure was almost lost sight of in the inter¬ 
est it excited. 

“Just as simple and natural and graceful as 
the dancing of leaves in the wind,” said one 
lady to her neighbor who chanced to be Mrs. 
Davidson. 

“They did look rather like autumn leaves,” 
she said. “I must pass on your pretty compli¬ 
ment to Joyce Hamilton who is mainly respon¬ 
sible for the dance — it wasn’t, of course, as 
easy as it looks.” 

“Who’s that?” said another lady. “Joyce 
Hamilton? I don’t know her. Was she the tall 
girl with auburn hair at the extreme left end? 
She’s by all odds the most graceful dancer 
I’ve ever seen. She was the very ‘poetry of 
motion’!” 


182 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Mrs. Davidson smiled proudly, and then 
leaned forward to say eagerly to a quiet little 
woman in black, whose cheeks were pink and 
whose eyes were shining, “Oh, Mrs. Huntley, 
how well Nora did! You must have been 
proud of her.” 

Mrs. Huntley nodded her answer; she 
couldn’t trust herself to speak; tears of joy 
were too near the surface; her Nora who had 
never before been able to do what other chil¬ 
dren did, her darling Nora! 

Dr. Kingston popped in and out from his 
camera canopy. Champlain turned to bid a 
dignified farewell to his hosts, the maidens 
(according to command) took an unstudied 
pose of graceful regret, and Drew looked up 
hastily to see that Dicky was once more in the 
attitude of a young Indian hunter. 

This was to be the tableau. 

But alas! The director’s troubles were not 
over yet. Dicky (on the top of the cliff) ap¬ 
peared to be executing a solo dance of his own 
invention. 

“Wait a second, Hugh,” whispered Drew, 
who gave a fair imitation of a Fenimore Cooper 
hero as he slid through the bushes to the back 
of Dicky’s cliff. 


A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 183 


“Stand still, you young — skunk!” he 
hissed fiercely. “ Don’t you dare to move an 
eyelid till the picture’s taken.” 

Dicky stiffened to attention; the camera 
clicked several times; Champlain embarked 
with great dignity and grace; the squaws and 
children rushed down to the little beach to 
wave farewell; the Indian guides gave a fine 
imitation of genuine Indian paddling, and in a 
moment or two the canoes disappeared around 
the corner of the island again. 

There was hearty applause from across the 
channel, and then Dr. Kingston, through the 
megaphone, invited the performers to hurry 
and get some lemonade “before it’s all gone.” 

There was an immediate response, for the 
Indian maidens were to dispense the said 
lemonade. All the boats this side the channel 
were soon ferrying the picturesque-looking pas¬ 
sengers across to where .the long tea-table had 
been set under the trees. 

Drew and his committee remained behind to 
pack up the properties and talk things over. 

“Congrats, Joyce,” said Hugh, who had 
landed on the other side of the point and 
walked over. “The dance you so kindly ar¬ 
ranged for my especial benefit was entirely sat- 


184 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

isfactory to me, if I may be permitted to say 
so.” 

“Satisfactory?” said Ted. “It was a peach. 
Looked pretty from the water, I can tell you.” 

“Ted, you had a good view of us all,” said 
Joyce earnestly; “did you notice how well 
Nora Huntley did!” 

“Nora?” said Ted in amazement. “I can’t 
say I did. I thought you and Judy were A 1! I 
never thought of that rum little kid being any¬ 
thing much.” 

“She was fine,” said Christine, beaming. “I 
noticed particularly; I could see her better 
than you, Joy, and she looked so happy with 
the others.” 

“Pretty near squeak that,” said Noel 
regarding the waterlogged birch-bark canoe 
gloomily. “Only my prompt Sir Walter Ral¬ 
eigh heroism in spreading my sweater for Hugh 
to kneel on saved the day — I never thought 
we’d make it. Champlain in a wet satin suit 
clinging to his skin would have been a cheery 
sight!” 

“‘All’s well that ends well,”’ said Drew, 
taking down a wigwam. “Here, Dicky, you 
better cut along.” 

The unconscious change in his tone pierced 


A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 185 

Dicky to the heart. To be called a —a — 
skunk — and then told to cut along in that 
kind of voice — he bet anybody would jump 
if they had five million wasps’ bites on their 
bare legs! 

He turned away hastily and tried to whistle 
his siren steam blast which he knew every one 
hated, but somehow or other his lips were 
“ trembly,” and all he could call forth was a 
very poor imitation of his best ear-racking 
efforts. 

Joyce, who was helping Drew, uttered a 
sudden exclamation. 

“Why-ee, Dicky Davidson, whatever have 
you done to yourself? Why, Dicky —!” 

Christine and Drew seized Dicky, who was 
trying hastily to escape since there were tears 
now, real tears, pricking under his eyelids. 

“Oh, Dicky,” crooned Christine. “You 
poor lamb. Oh, goodness, there are dozens of 
them!” 

This was all Dicky needed to stiffen his 
spine. He wasn’t going to have a lot of girls 
bothering over him — not he. 

“Aw, what’s a few bites!” he said loftily. “I 
just stepped on a nest up there. I guess we bet¬ 
ter clear it away. Drew, in case some of these 


186 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


girls should step on it.” (His eleven-year-old 
masculine patronage was delicious.) 

“Sure thing,” said Drew heartily. “The 
last time a wasp stung me, a chap told me to 
wet the blue-bag and stick it on the place. 
How’d it be if you and Froggy were to run 
over in Sputter to his house — that’ll be nearer 
than going home — and borrow the blue-bag? 
Then you can have refreshments with us 
fellows later.” 

“ Us fellows! ” Dicky beamed: amende honor¬ 
able had indeed been made for the “skunk” of 
a few minutes ago. 

“There, we can leave the rest of the things 
till to-morrow, even if it does rain,” said Drew. 
“Judy” — to that busy person who was just 
handing Joyce a large box with directions as to 
what to do with it — “you’ve saved our lives 
with these nice business-like lists and boxes for 
the properties. If you ever want to be Premier, 
or the president of a railway, just apply to me 
for a testimonial.” 

Joyce didn’t hear what Judith said in reply, 
for at that moment the Gray Goose started to 
snort and puff, but a pang of envy shot through 
her pleasure in her little part of the success. 

They had a merry tea-party, however, and 


A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 187 

counted the gate receipts and tea-money with 
great satisfaction and joy at the thought that 
five, perhaps six, little children, would be given 
a holiday in the country as the result of the en¬ 
terprise. On the way home Joyce took herself 
to task for her ungracious thoughts of Judith’s 
conscientious carrying-out of her responsibili¬ 
ties, so that, when they landed at Ken-jockety, 
she picked up the box and asked Christine, 
“Do you know what Judy wanted me to do 
with this box? I didn’t hear exactly — I’m 
afraid I wasn’t listening very hard — some¬ 
thing about leaving it in the chalet till evening, 
wasn’t it?” 

“Oh, that!” said Christine, looking con¬ 
science-stricken and excited at the same mo¬ 
ment. “She really asked me to look after it, 
and I forgot all about it till now; she asked me to 
give it to you after we got home. Joy, isn’t she 
a brick! Didn’t she look lovely in the dance! I 
just kept thinking of a bird — you know — 
circling the way the gulls do — or a big butter¬ 
fly-” 

“Well, what am I to do with the box?” de¬ 
manded Joyce rather impatiently. “ I haven’t 
much time, for I’ve got to concoct a Japanese 
costume.” 


188 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“You were to wait until you reached the 
chalet, and then open it,” said Christine, her 
eyes dancing. “Let’s hurry.” 

A suspicion crept into Joyce’s mind. She 
hoped not — especially when she had assured 
Judy that the costume from Boston would cer¬ 
tainly come in time. 

But her suspicions were right. There inside 
the box lay a lovely dress of bronze-and-gold 
brocade, fit for a queen; a smaller box held a 
stiff white ruff and a little pearl-studded head¬ 
dress. On top lay a note, and while Christine 
“oh’d” and “ah’d” over the lovely things, 
Joyce read: 

Please don’t say ‘no,’ Joyce. From the moment 
Aunt Nell said she’d send me the Mary Queen of 
Scots dress I knew that it would be wasted on me, 
and that you ought to be Queen Mary. Did any one 
ever tell you how like her you look? You had your 
own plans, so I didn’t say anything, but now that 
your dress hasn’t come, please wear this one. I’d 
much rather dress like Nancy, anyway, and we are 
going as Ursuline nuns: the dresses are easy as easy 
and we had enough gray stuff for two. Please! 

Affectionately Judy 

Joyce’s cheeks were rather pink as she 
turned to survey the lovely costume that 
Christine was holding up for her admiration. 


A PAGEANT AND A PARTY 189 


“Judy was afraid you might want to say 
‘no’ and think you shouldn’t take it ’cos her 
Aunt Nell sent it for her, but you will wear it, 
won’t you?” 

“I’d be a horrid ungrateful pig to spoil such 
nice generous thoughtfulness if I didn’t wear 
it,” said Joyce quickly. “Judy is a brick, 
Chris; you’re right about her.” 

“What have we here?” said Professor Da¬ 
vidson a little later as Christine and Joyce came 
into the sitting-room to show themselves to the 
family before putting on their cloaks. 

“My dear, you do look nice,” said Mrs. Da¬ 
vidson when she had made Joyce a sweeping 
curtsy. “A very perfect Queen Mary, auburn 
hair, gray-green eyes, and all.” 

“Turn around slowly, Christine, while I 
guess,” Professor Davidson was saying. “A 
French Court lady, of that I’m sure. WTiy not 
Monsieur de Champlain’s sweetheart? She 
was sixteen and fair-haired, I’m told, when the 
Comte sailed away and left her. And here’s 
Drew looking very gallant and gay. Not Loch- 
invar, I hope.” 

“That’s what I call all right,” said Drew, 
surveying Christine in her finery and then 
Joyce in her splendor. 


190 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“All right!” said Christine scornfully. (She 
had entirely forgotten her own appearance in 
her glee over Joyce’s.) “All right! Abso¬ 
lutely stunning, I should say. Why, she’s per¬ 
fectly—” 

“And absolutely,” said Professor Davidson, 
putting down his book with a smile. “Your 
adverbs are justified for once, my dear. Drew 
means it all, but he’s suffering from masculine 
dumbness. Have a good time, children.” 

And they did. According to Christine, a per¬ 
fectly wonderful and absolutely perfect time, 
from the moment when they landed at Long 
Point — which looked like the scene of a party 
in a fairy-tale, so enchanting were the Chinese 
lanterns hung in the pine grove and on the 
verandas — until good-nights were said, and 
queens and kings, courtiers and peasants, 
countesses and nuns paddled home across the 
quiet starlit waters. 

A very happy day! 


CHAPTER X 
THE CAMPING-TRIP 

It was well that the borrowed properties were 
returned promptly after the pageant, for next 
day was quite busy enough. 

Such a packing-up and getting ready for 
another good time! 

Mrs. Davidson and Peggy and Dicky must 
get ready for their visit with Mrs. Benson; 
Christine and Joyce and Drew must make 
preparations for the Muskoka trip. 

Peggy and Dicky were so attached to all 
their belongings at Ken-jockety that it was a 
wrench to leave any of them even for three 
days. 

“Not all these, Peggy, darling,’’ Joyce, go¬ 
ing into the living-room for her camera, heard 
Mrs. Davidson say. “It’s a short visit, you 
know. Let’s just take one book apiece. No, 
certainly not the mud turtle — he’ll get along 
quite happily until we come home again. Of 
course he will. He fed himself until you came 
along like a fairy godmother. Bring me your 
second-best white frock — yes, the linen one. 


192 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

Did you put clean hankies into the suitcase? 
Oh, not your gun, Dicky,” as Dicky held up a 
large old-fashioned shotgun which had once 
been Drew’s and had suffered such severe han¬ 
dling as to rely now, as a dangerous weapon, 
only upon its ferocious appearance. 

“There’s no man there but me,” said Dicky 
earnestly, “and I’d like a gun if I’m to look 
after all you women.” 

Mrs. Davidson seemed to realize the impor¬ 
tance of having a man about, for she answered 
soberly, “That’s so, son, I’d forgotten that 
you were in charge. Put the gun here with 
your club-bag.” 

“I bet Drew takes his gun,” said Dicky. 
“You never know what you might see up the 
river. Jacques said he got a big black bear last 
fall, V there’s a cranberry swamp up there, 
V bears like cranberries. I wouldn’t go up 
without a gun. Froggy thinks there’s a bear 
around their lagoon — why, he saw tracks as 
big as big! You better not go off by yourself, 
Joyce — there’s lots of dangerous things up 
the river — why, Froggy —” 

“Run away, Dicky, do. There’s Christine 
now, and I can’t have you both talking at 


once. 


THE CAMPING-TRIP 


193 


“Mother, have you seen my sun-glasses? I 
left them on the little table right here — and 
does anybody know where Drew’s second big¬ 
gest frying-pan is? He says I borrowed it — I 
didn’t, did I, Joyce? And, Mum, would you 
'please mend this tear in my middy — it’s 
a horrid three-cornered one — and, Mum, we 
haven’t a speck of cornmeal! Drew wants some 
for frying fish. Let’s go over to Boschink and 
borrow some, Joyce.” 

“Let me go, Mum,” said Dicky. “Uncle 
Ben promised me some worms to use while he’s 
gone. I want to see where he puts ’em.” 

“Me, too,” piped Peggy. “Mother, please 
mend Arabella’s neck while I’m gone.” 

At a nod from his mother, Dicky was off like 
a flash, with Peggy running after him declaring 
loudly that Mother said she might go, too. 

Joyce laughed as the door banged behind 
Dicky. 

“I should think you’d need two or three 
pairs of hands, and at least two pairs of ears, 
Aunt Fran,” she said. “I don’t know how you 
manage to straighten out everybody’s troubles. 
I’m all ready for to-morrow — as far as I know 
— so let me be one of your extra pairs of hands. 
Could I do your middy, Chris?” 


194 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“Pm sure you could, Joy, but I want Chris¬ 
tine to do it herself; she doesn’t mend nearly as 
well as you do! ” 

“ Doesn't she do it beautifully?” said Chris¬ 
tine cheerfully. “And you should see how tidy 
her part of the chalet is. I wish I could sew like 
she does, but I wasn’t born that way.” 

“ Nor me,” said Joyce. “ But you see I spent 
one winter at a school in England, and I just 
had to be tidy and learn to sew. I hated it, 
but there was no getting out of it. They do 
do things thoroughly over there, you know. 
If mending was on your daily time-table — 
well, you just had to learn to mend, and mend 
well . Of course over here where we choose our 
studies, no one would choose mending!” 

Christine laughed at the very idea, and made 
a wry face as her mother gave her a patch to 
slip in under the three-cornered tear. “Arabel¬ 
la’s neck” sounded difficult, but an Indian pa¬ 
poose dolly has an easy neck to mend, and 
Joyce was soon finished with this, and ready 
for another task. 

“I’m glad to goodness,” said Christine next 
morning at the breakfast-table, “that we were 
so virtuous yesterday. I finished up about 
twenty odd jobs. Mum, I do think a clearing- 


THE CAMPING-TRIP 


195 


up day is a splendid idea. The state of my ward¬ 
robe is irreproachable now, and I’m all ready 
for to-day.” 

But she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t! She 
was hunting wildly for her second-best bathing- 
suit because she’d forgotten to mend the one 
she used regularly, when Dicky, who had been 
down to the wharf at least ten times that morn¬ 
ing, rushed up to say that the Gray Goose 
would be there in two minutes, 44 ’n’ Drew says 
you mustn’t keep everybody waiting, Chris.” 

44 It can’t be nine o’clock,” wailed Chris. 
44 Where can that wretched bathing-suit be? 
Yes, Mummy, darling, I will be careful. — Oh, 
here it is! Thank you, Joyce.” 

And Christine was off to put it in the 
dunnage-bag, leaving her mother and Joyce 
to follow more slowly. 

Joyce saw the lovely, tender, brooding, 
mother-look in the beautiful eyes. 

Mrs. Davidson put her arm around Joyce. 
44 Other little daughter,” she said, “you’ll be 
very careful, won’t you, while you’re away, and 
look after Chris for me, will you? You know 
how hasty and impulsive she is. I can trust 
you not to do anything foolish, but Christine 
gets so excited.” 


196 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“Why, Aunt Fran,” said Joyce, “Chris is 
always looking after me, but I’ll hold her 
back if she gets too wildly excited: I’d — I’d 
do anything for Chris.” 

At the moment she was ready to promise 
anything; she would lay down her life if need 
be. Aunt Fran could trust her; of course she’d 
be careful; Aunt Fran was a darling; there was 
no doubt about that. 

Drew was stowing away dunnage-bags in the 
red canoe and the Veery which were to be 
towed behind the Goose, and he and Dicky 
elected to ride in the canoes while the other 
passengers with their suitcases and Arabella 
and the rifle climbed down into the hospitable 
Goose and were soon landed at Boschink. 

Mrs. Benson was giving last instructions to 
Judith and Nancy. 

“It is a risk letting these precious daughters 
go away with mere fathers,” her eyes tele¬ 
graphed rather anxiously to Mrs. Davidson. 

“Not a bit of it,” was the unspoken but 
reassuring answer. “They’ll be all right.” 

“Nothing’s going to happen to us, Mother, 
darling,” said Judith, giving her mother a last 
hug — “except a good time. And I do hope we 
meet the boys at the right place. Got your 


THE CAMPING-TRIP 


197 


letter, Nancy, in case we forget instructions?” 

“Lots of things are going to happen,” said 
Christine gayly. “We’ll have a whole list of 
adventures to tell you when we get back Satur¬ 
day night — at least I hope so — it would be 
dull not to have adventures.” 

“Well, you get me a good big piece of red 
cedar, Drew, and watch out for a bear,” said 
Dicky, who was torn between envy at their 
good luck in going and joy at the thought of 
the almost unlimited number of worms put at 
his disposal by Uncle Ben. “You keep your 
eye skinned for a bear, and if you see any deer, 
for goodness’ sake, get a snap-shot, Chris — 
have the camera ready!” 

There was a general laugh at Dicky’s exhor¬ 
tation, and then, “All aboard that’s going 
aboard,” sang Drew; Uncle Ben and Nancy 
led off in the Gosling, Judy, Christine, and 
Drew followed in the red canoe, and Joyce 
and Uncle Graeme brought up the rear in the 
Veery. 

It was a delicious morning all blue and 
golden; presently it would be hot, but as yet 
there was a breeze blowing in from the open 
which broke up the water into tiny dancing 
waves. 


198 


CAMP ICEN-JOCKETY 


The little procession threaded its way 
through the islands and across the bay, waving 
to acquaintances on the various docks and ve¬ 
randas. They met Hugh on his way to the post- 
office, but refused with great dignity his offer 
of a tow as far as the chute. 

Once they entered the river, they met no one 
else and to Joyce, after the rush and turmoil of 
the last few days, the quiet was soothing and 
grateful. 

She paddled steadily and rhythmically, and 
beyond complimenting her once on her im¬ 
proved stroke, Professor Davidson made no 
pretense at conversation. Joyce was one of the 
family now and quite used to ‘‘Dad’s brown 
studies,” as Christine had nicknamed her 
father’s contemplative moods. 

After the broad reaches and wide horizons 
which were their everyday fare at Ken-jock- 
ety, these more restricted views of landscape 
and water up the river were interesting and 
restful. 

Judith, in the canoe ahead, could be seen 
pointing out to Nancy Jacques’s farm, and the 
beaver dam, and the curiously shaped rocks in 
the Narrows. To Joyce this first stretch of the 
river was like an old friend now, for this was 


199 


THE CAMPING-TRIP 

her third — no, her fourth trip, as far as the 
lumber chute. She smiled to herself as she 
remembered her first picnic up here; it seemed 
months and months ago. Was it possible 
that she had been at Ken-joekety only six 
weeks? 

Judith wanted to linger at the chute and 
show Nancy the little waterfall and see if any 
lady’s-slippers were to be found in the glen, but 
Drew was all for pressing on to the second por¬ 
tage before a halt was made for luncheon, and, 
as the two men were keen to get some fishing in 
Little Gull Lake that evening, they agreed 
with Drew. 

Drew, who had been unanimously elected 
Transport Officer, divided up the dunnage and 
paddles between the girls, and then the three 
men, each with a heavy canoe for a hat, went, 
staggering a little, down the trail. 

“They’ll be hot, oh, very very hot,” said 
Judith. “Let’s give them five minutes to cool 
off before we appear.” 

“Anybody feel the pangs of hunger?” asked 
Nancy. “Because if so—” She paused sug¬ 
gestively, holding up some chocolate bars in 
her hand. 

“Me,” said three voices promptly. 


200 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“I don’t see how I can be hungry,” said 
Joyce, “but I am.” 

They divided the chocolate, but found the 
mosquitoes so bad on the shady spots along the 
trail that they decided to follow the canoe- 
carriers at once. 

Again the dunnage was carefully stowed 
away, and they struck across the little lake, 
heading for a point which was a favorite 
camping-ground with the Davidsons. 

“That’s the straighter route if one is going 
direct to Bala,” said Professor Davidson, 
pointing eastward with his paddle, as he and 
Joyce followed the others. “But Little Gull 
will give us a good day’s fishing, we hope, to¬ 
morrow, and Two Pines Point is a very beauti¬ 
ful spot. Did you see Drew’s map before we 
left?” 

“I just glanced at it yesterday,” said Joyce. 
“I was amazed to see how many lakes there 
are in this part of the country — dozens and 
dozens of ’em. There’s a pretty island. I’d like 
to land there. How far could we go, Uncle 
Graeme, if we set out to see this part of Canada 
in a canoe? Some summer I’d like to coax Dad 
to spend his holidays with me exploring all 
these lakes.” 


THE CAMPING-TRIP 


201 


“You and the Colonel would have a full 
summer,” said Professor Davidson. “ I couldn’t 
say how far you could go; you don’t forget 
that Champlain came up the Ottawa in a canoe, 
crossed over by Lake Nipissing, and came 
down Georgian Bay and through to Lakes 
Couchiching and Simcoe; he had some long 
portages, of course, but we’ve built canals since 
his day; then there are all the lovely Muskoka 
lakes and the countless little lakes and rivers 
farther north in Algonquin Park and Tema- 
gami. You’d have to spend a week resting in 
between-whiles at Ken-jockety, my dear.” 

“I’m going to buy a geography of Canada,” 
declared Joyce positively. “I’m criminally 
ignorant. But — you mustn’t laugh — I’m 
going to be an explorer; that’s my firm inten¬ 
tion and highest ambition.” 

By one o’clock the girls, at any rate, were 
glad to fling themselves down in the shade of 
the big pines for a rest. The last half-hour’s go¬ 
ing had tired every one with the exception of 
Drew, who chaffed the others on being in bad 
condition and offered to get the luncheon. 

“No, thank you, I’ll get luncheon,” said 
Judith, “and no one need help.” 

“Not fair,” said Christine. “Drew will light 
a fire, and I’ll set the table —” 


202 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

“We needn’t have a fire,” said Judith; “and 
as you won’t let me be a hero, I’ll ’fess that 
Mother made us a luncheon this morning. 
Here it is in this box which we can throw away 
afterward — heaps of sandwiches and tarts 
and — and you won’t believe it — two thermos 
bottles of iced lemonade, strong, so we can 
dilute it.” 

“Your mother is an angel, Judy,” said Joyce 
solemnly. “I’ve been thinking about nothing 
this last hour but iced lemonade — cold and 
tinkly in a tall glass with a straw. I don’t 
think I ever was so hot in my life! Why ever 
did we wear such heavy clothes — ugh! — the 
very thought of serge knickers makes me boil! ” 

“May be cold or raining to-night,” said 
Christine soothingly. “Then how would you 
feel in wilted cotton? And how would you have 
liked to carry more luggage than we already 
have?” 

In a few minutes Joyce had her desire — a 
long cool drink. Professor Davidson proposed 
Mrs. Benson’s health, which was drunk with a 
will, for the salad sandwiches were as good as 
the lemonade, and the tarts the best of all, ac¬ 
cording to Drew, who claimed the largest share 
for the Transport Commission. 


THE CAMPING-TRIP 


203 


Drew allowed them three quarters of an 
hour’s rest, and then declared that they must be 
off if they were to make Two Pines by five 
o’clock. 

“And must we make it by five ?” queried Dr. 
Benson, who was enjoying a pipe and his favor¬ 
ite “Compleat Angler.” 

“It would be better, sir,” answered Drew. 
“We’ve tents to pitch—” 

“And I want an hour’s fishing by that high 
rock,” said his father. “Remember the beau¬ 
ties we got there two summers ago, Drew? 
You’ll open your eyes when you see ’em, 
Benson.” 

Off they went again, and on through the long 
hot summer afternoon; muscles were aching 
and arms and noses burning, long before Drew 
pointed out two tall pines on a high rock just 
ahead and the camping-ground beyond it. 

“Oh, I do hope no one else is there,” said 
Christine. 

“Why, couldn’t we camp anywhere?” asked 
Joyce, looking about at the miles of country 
which all looked very much the same. 

“Of course we could” answered Christine, 
“but this is an extra nice spot — some of the 
boys camped here one year, and they built a 


204 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


splendid fireplace, and a table, and a rack for 
holding pots and pans; and when you’ve 
washed dishes for five or six people on your 
knees beside the water you’ll appreciate a 
table.” 

Joyce and Professor Davidson were the first 
to land and flung up their paddles with a shout 
when they found that Two Pines was to be 
theirs for the night. 

“What about ten minutes’ rest and then to 
work?” said Drew after they had surveyed 
their new quarters. 

“Slave-driver,” moaned Judith. “Is this a 
pleasure expedition or is it not?” 

“It won’t be a pleasure expedition unless 
you have a roof over your head and a bed to 
sleep on,” retorted Drew amiably. 

Ten minutes’ rest did wonders for tired mus¬ 
cles. Then tents were put up, firewood and wa¬ 
ter carried, and the two men decided that they 
might have an hour’s fishing before supper 
while Drew and the girls made the beds. 

“The beds!” said Joyce to Nancy. “That 
won’t take long — a few branches with a 
blanket spread over them.” 

It s evident you have never made a spruce 
bed, returned Nancy, laughing. “I assure you 


THE CAMPING-TRIP 


205 


it’s a tedious job, especially if you are using 
the camp for several nights. We go out from 
our cabin in the Laurentians sometimes for a 
week at a time, and the making of the beds 
when we set up camp is the most important 
job of all.” 

Fortunately there were spruce trees in abun¬ 
dance about Two Pines — perhaps that was 
one reason why it was such a favorite camping- 
site — and Joyce was soon busy gathering the 
tips of the branches into her red blanket, and 
helping haul the larger pieces through the un¬ 
derbrush to the camp. There she was initiated 
by Nancy into the mysteries of how to lay the 
branches in straight even rows, and fill up the 
spaces with little twigs so as to form a springy 
fragrant couch. 

Judith and Christine were already unpack¬ 
ing the kitchen utensils and hanging them 
on the rack that Christine had spoken of. It 
turned out to be a sapling stripped of its bark 
and fitted into the crotches of two neighboring 
trees; its limbs, which had evidently been 
growing in a very regular row, had been lopped 
off about four inches from the parent stem, and 
these pegs were most useful for hanging up 
frying-pans, coffee-pot, etc. The table was 


206 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


merely a rough plank nailed to two tree 
stumps, but at a most convenient height for 
dishwashing purposes. 

“ Voila” said Christine, hanging up the last 
saucepan, “C’est fini! Now for supper! Do 
you know,” she continued solemnly, “every 
time I go camping, I promise myself that I 
won’t be greedy, but I get so hungry I just 
don’t seem to be able to help thinking about 
what I’m going to have to eat.” 

The others laughed at her rueful face, and 
Judith and Nancy agreed that they felt ex¬ 
actly the same way. 

“Do come here,” cried Joyce excitedly. 
“Here’s something up the tree — it’s a kitten 
— no — it isn’t — oh! —” 

“Oh — oh — isn’t it the cutest thing?” 
said Nancy, who reached the tree first. 
“What ever can it be?” 

“It’s a baby porcupine,” said Christine. “I 
saw one the last trip we had — look, he’s com¬ 
ing down —he isn’t a bit afraid —hush — 
let s see if we can get him — I wonder where 
Drew is?” 

She ran down to the boat for a paddle. 

The comical little fellow in the pine-tree was 
evidently not at all alarmed by the big crea- 


THE CAMPING-TRIP 


207 


tures below, for he came slowly down the tree. 
The girls held their breath as Christine cau¬ 
tiously slid the paddle up the trunk and 
touched him. He was inquisitive as so many of 
the wild creatures are; he put out one clumsy 
little paw and felt the paddle, but move again 
he would not, for all Christine’s persuasive 
poking and nudgings. 

“Porcupines are crazy about salt,” said 
Judith. “Let’s try him with some salted 
biscuit or bread.” 

Up went the salted morsel and out went 
porcy’s paw to gather in this strange good¬ 
smelling stuff, but at the spontaneous burst of 
laughter from below he shuffled up the tree 
again. 

“He’s double-join ted everywhere ,” cried 
Nancy. “Oh, I wish he’d do it again!” And 
she curved her arm out in vain imitation of the 
little visitor’s grotesque movements. 

Just then a shout from the shore brought 
them running down to the beach to see the 
catch the two fishermen were proudly display¬ 
ing. 

Drew prepared the bass for the frying-pan 
and Joyce and Christine peeled potatoes, while 
Judy and Nancy set out the aluminum plates 


208 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

and cups, sliced bacon, and spread bread and 
butter. 

“ Tell me a fairy-tale or a bear story or some¬ 
thing to take my mind off the hollow void 
within me,” begged Joyce when the potatoes 
were bubbling over the fire and a delicious 
aroma of bacon and fish was coming from the 
frying-pan. “I thought three potatoes each 
was a fearful lot, but I wish we’d done four, 
Chris.” 

They did enjoy their supper, and after the 
dishes were washed and the camp made tidy. 
Drew put a log on the fire to serve as light and 
as a warning to mosquitoes, and Uncle Ben 
told yarns about early pioneer days in the 
Muskoka bush. 

Then Professor Davidson reached into his 
pocket for the inevitable book without which 
he never seemed complete. This time it was 
“ Maria Chapdelaine,” Louis Hemon’s epic of 
pioneer life in the Quebec northlands. 

Joyce was very sleepy; she had had a long 
and strenuous day, and, although she had lis¬ 
tened eagerly to Uncle Ben’s tales, when she 
saw Uncle Graeme’s hand go to his pocket, she 
settled down more comfortably, her head pil¬ 
lowed on Christine’s knee, and decided that 


209 


THE CAMPING-TRIP 

nothing should keep her any longer from the 
sleep her weary muscles were crying out for. 

But the stern beauty of the story seized her 
and would not let her go. She sat up blinking 
in the firelight. 

“Please excuse me. Uncle Graeme,” she 
cried. “I want to hear the story; I must hear 
it; but Im so sleepy. It isn’t fair, is it, to 
choose such a beautiful one!” 

“I should say it isn’t fair,” said Uncle Ben 
emphatically. “It’s high time that all good 
campers were in their beds. No more reading 
to-night. Joyce and I will head a rebellion. 
There was a man, Graeme,” he added as the 
others got up and stretched their weary limbs. 
“He’s made the French-Canadian pioneer im¬ 
mortal. A great book: how could he — ?” 

“Daddy, I’m sorry to interrupt you,” said 
Judith, “but you’re blocking the way to our 
tent, and if you want to kiss me good-night, 
please do it before you and Uncle Graeme 
begin a literary pow-wow.” 

There was no more discussion, good-nights 
were said, and the four girls retired to their 
tent. 

“It’s a tight fit,” said Christine cheerfully as 
she snuggled down on her sweet-smelling bed. 


210 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“If I had a shoehorn I’d loan it to you, Joy* 
You’ll need one to get out in the morning. 
Who ever would have thought we would want 
blankets to-night? Aren’t the stars too won¬ 
derful?” 

“Choke her, Joy,” suggested Judy. “Do 
anything you like to her, but don’t let her 
talk!” 

The camp was soon quiet; but the quiet was 
not to be unbroken that first night. In the 
dark hour just before dawn, every one was 
awakened by a sharp explosion which sounded 
like a revolver-shot close at hand. 

“Any one hurt?” called Dr. Benson anx¬ 
iously. 

“No!” came a chorus of startled voices. 

“Stay quietly where you are,” commanded 
the doctor. “Drew, where is your gun?” 

“Here beside me,” said Drew. “It couldn’t 
have been mine — must be somebody hunt¬ 
ing.” 

“Hunting,” said his father — “in the pitch 
darkness!” 

Dr. Benson was already outside with his 
flashlight, but he announced soon that he 
could find nothing, and that every one was to 
go to sleep again. 


211 


THE CAMPING-TRIP 

That, however, was easier said than done. 
Joyce had a sudden thought. 

“Chris,” she whispered, “do you think it’s 
Indians? I saw an Indian sailboat in the 
bay the other day.” 

Well, you didn’t see the Indians,” said 
Chris drowsily, “or you’d know they wouldn’t 
do anything wild like shooting at us in the 
dark.” 

There’s one thing certain, we don’t need to 
worry with Dad and Uncle Graeme and Drew 
here,” said Judith sensibly. “ Moi, I’m going 
to go to sleep immediately — I’m asleep now.” 


CHAPTER XI 
THE CAMP-FIRE 

“There’s the Indian again,” whispered Joyce 
tensely next morning, sitting up suddenly with 
her eyes still closed. 

“Indian nothing,” laughed Christine. “It’s 
Drew carrying firewood, but he’s discovered 
your Indian all right. I heard him telling 
Uncle Ben.” 

“Has he really?” gasped Joyce, eyes quite 
wide open now. So she hadn’t dreamed it after 
all! 

“Yes,” said Christine, laughing. “I hate to 
rob you of your dreams of adventures with 
bloodthirsty Ojibways, but the pistol shot was 
merely the thermos bottle exploding! I filled 
it with hot water last night so the porridge 
wouldn’t take so long this morning. I left it 
too near the fire, I guess. Don’t go to sleep 
again, please . I was hoping you’d waken be¬ 
fore I had to shake you once more. I’ve tried 
twice. You looked so comfy and happy I 
hated to do it. You and Judy are the cham¬ 
pion sleepers in this camp. It’s a perfectly gor- 


THE CAMP-FIRE 


213 


geous morning. Drew said he’d get breakfast 

— let’s go down now for a dip — there’s a 
crane — three of ’em — aren’t they too ridicu¬ 
lous looking? Oh, why won’t my hair curl like 
yours? Oh, dear, there’s a split in my bathing- 
cap! That’s the third cap this season. Where’s 
the soap? The others have gone on.” 

They found Judith and Nancy already in 
the water and lost no time in taking a plunge. 

As they came out on a tiny sandy beach, 
Nancy, who was a little ahead of the others, 
uttered a cry of surprise. 

“ Whatever are these? ” She stooped to exam¬ 
ine something in the sand. The others crowded 
around. There were tracks in the firm wet sand 

— large footprints! 

“A bear!” said Nancy solemnly. 

“PYaps it’s a deer of some kind,” suggested 
Judith. 

“Far too big,” said Chris. “Let’s get Dad 
and Drew.” 

She whistled her special call, and Drew’s an¬ 
swer came back promptly. A moment later 
he appeared on the rocks, pancake-flapper in 
hand. 

“WLat’s up?” he called; “I’m making 
griddle-cakes — can’t be interrupted!” 


214 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“Bear’s tracks,” shouted Christine, hugely 
enjoying the sensation she was making. 

“Joking?” said Drew. 

“Not,” sang back Christine. 

By this time Uncle Ben had appeared and 
the two men reached the spot at the same time, 
and simultaneously shouted with great scorn, 
“Porcupine!” 

“But they look much too big for a porcu¬ 
pine,” objected Christine. “These tracks are 
huge!” 

“So are his feet, sister mine,” said Drew. 
“And so is my appetite,” he added. “For 
sweet pity’s sake, if not for mine — hurry!” 

They had a merry breakfast, for in camp 
even breakfasts are joyful. 

Plans for the day’s pleasure were discussed. 
The girls, it seemed, were not to be invited to 
go on the fishing-trip; indeed, they were not 
very keen to go; a whole day’s fishing does 
not usually appeal to the feminine taste. Also, 
some of the party must go back to the main 
trail, and meet the boys who were expected 
down from Bala that afternoon. A lunch was 
packed for the fishermen, the fires put out, and 
the provisions packed up as carefully as pos¬ 
sible against the possible visitation of porcu- 


215 


THE CAMP-FIRE 

pines or ants. Then the whole party got into 
canoes, and crossed the lake toward the por¬ 
tage leading to Little Gull Lake, supposed to 
be a fisherman’s paradise. 

It was an exquisitely clean morning — the 
air so crisply invigorating with its spice of pine 
and its tang of ozone from the great wind¬ 
swept stretches of forest and lake that, after a 
few minutes’ paddling, every one was hum¬ 
ming or whistling or singing, and as all the 
tunes were different, they were soon merged 
into laughter. 

The girls promised to be very careful of 
themselves, not go in swimming (a bath, yes, 
but no diving) and to stay near the camp until 
they went down to the trail in the afternoon. 

“Huh!” said Christine as the men disap¬ 
peared up the trail. “ Dad would never think of 
all these precautions; Mother must have put 
him up to it; but we can’t have the Dear worry¬ 
ing his precious head about us. What would 
everybody like to do? Moi , I’d like to dance. 
Now if I could be Ariel and ‘run upon the sharp 
wind of the north’! What would you like, Joy?” 

“Just at present, your assistance,” said 
Joyce. “I can’t steer in the bow, silly. Look 
how Judy is getting ahead of us.” 


216 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

Back at the camp again more plans were 
made. Judy and Nancy wanted to explore the 
west shore of the lake, where the trees grew 
thickly down to the water’s edge, and search 
for water-birds. Nancy had seen several king¬ 
fishers that morning already, and believed she 
might get some good pictures if Judith and she 
loitered about quietly in their canoe. Christine 
thought they might get some blueberries for 
supper a little farther down the shore; so, col¬ 
lecting some tins, they set off once more, keep¬ 
ing, however, within sight of the camp. 

They had a peaceful happy morning: Nancy 
got her pictures, and Christine her berries; 
Joyce found a clump of bladderwort growing 
in the sand on the shore, and carried some 
home in her berry-tin that the others might en¬ 
joy the fragile, delicately perfumed butterfly¬ 
like blossoms. 

After luncheon Christine announced that 
they had a couple of hours in which to do what 
they liked before setting off to meet the boys. 

“But they might come sooner than we ex¬ 
pected,” objected Nancy. “Couldn’t we go 
down to the portage and stay near by so we 
would be sure to see them?” 

“Good idea,” said Judith. “Let’s take some 


THE CAMP-FIRE 


217 


work — I want to write a letter. Didn’t you 
say you had a letter-pad we might use, Joy?” 

“I did,” said Joyce. “I must write to Dad 
this very day. He’ll love to hear about this 
trip; I think he must have been up this way 
when he was at Ken-jockety before.” 

“Yes,” said Christine, “just before the war 
— with Uncle Michael; they had such a good 
time; — we are glad to remember it.” 

Once more the canoes set off across the lake; 
they were beached this time on the shore of an 
island which Joyce had admired and longed to 
explore the day before. Any travelers from 
Muskoka by the regular trail had to pass in 
full view of it, and from the height at its south¬ 
ern tip a good view was obtained down the lit¬ 
tle river which emptied into the lake. 

The landing-place was shady, so Judith, 
having begged some sheets of paper, produced a 
pencil and settled down to her letter. Christine 
decided on a nap, and Nancy commenced a 
sketch of Judith. 

Joyce hesitated for a moment. Should she 
follow Judith’s example and write her weekly 
letter? No, she’d explore the island first and 
write later. 

“I’m going on an exploring trip if nobody 


218 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


objects,” she announced. “I’ll write my letter 
up on that high point. I’ll coo-ee when I get 
there.” 

“I’d better come, too,” said Christine, open¬ 
ing her eyes and dragging herself rather re¬ 
luctantly from a delicious drowsiness. “You 
might get lost.” 

“Lost, my child?” returned Joyce. “I 
couldn’t nohow; it’s much too small an is¬ 
land. I won’t be beyond calling distance: I was 
only going to pretend that there was no one 
within miles and miles of me, so that I could 
imagine myself an explorer.” 

“All right,” murmured Christine sleepily, 
“but don’t be too long before you call.” 

Joyce set off along the shore, jumping 
lightly in her rubber shoes across the little in¬ 
lets of clear water near the shore line, and 
clambering up over the big boulders. 

Not one of the new occupations of the sum¬ 
mer (and she was enjoying a good many) had 
given her as much pleasure as this game of “ ex¬ 
ploring.” She loved to “poke about,” looking 
at the possibilities of a point or an island, de¬ 
ciding on a good site for a house, searching for a 
safe harbor, and keeping an eye open for signs 
of recent Indian camps. 


THE CAMP-FIRE 


219 


A few weeks ago she would have scorned 
these proceedings as “childish,” and “ a bore,” 
but there was no doubt but that she was enjoy¬ 
ing herself to-day. 

“This would be a good place for a house,” 
said the explorer suddenly. “Right here under 
these pines, with the harbor on the east, and a 
view of the sunset, and this high point as a 
lookout — of course, it isn’t as nice as Little 
Moon. I’ve never seen another quite as nice. 
Don't I wish it were mine! — I wonder if that 
American would sell it. Why didn’t I ever think 
of that before? ” A light broke out on her face, 
and she hurried up the slope to the lookout 
rock to write her letter; she would ask her 
father if he could and would buy an island near 
the Davidsons’, even the tiniest one, but Little 
Moon if it were at all possible. Why hadn't she 
thought of it before? 

She found a comfortable spot away from the 
trees, in the shade of a rock, and her pencil 
flew over the paper. A little green garter snake 
slid by on the rock, but she did not stir. 
“Funny that I used to be so frightened of a 
tiny thing like that,” she thought. “It is a 
pretty — a lovely color — though I must say 
I’ll never like the horrid things.” 


220 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


There was much to be chronicled this week: 
the pageant, and the dance, and this camping 
trip, and the plan for the buying of an island. 
She was only well started, when “Coo-ee” 
came in Christine’s clear voice from below. 

“ Coo-ee, coo-ee,” called Joyce, frowning at 
her own forgetfulness. Christine had prob¬ 
ably not gone to sleep at all until she knew that 
Joyce was safe and near at hand. What a dear 
Christine was! 

Joyce finished her letter and then crossed to 
the edge of the cliff and looked up the river. 
No, no canoes in sight yet; not a human being, 
nor yet any sign of their works or habitations 
to be seen. Something of the mystery of the 
wilderness crept into Joyce’s soul, sobered her, 
almost depressed her; she felt small, unimpor¬ 
tant as the little midges floating in the air, until 
she remembered Christine and the others hid¬ 
den down there on the beach. 

“Dear old Chris,” she thought, as she 
stretched out on the fragrant pine-needles and 
looked up through the waving branches to the 
white fleecy clouds sailing across the blue sky. 
“She’s so generous and loyal; she’d rather I 
had a good time than she herself — and she’d 
believe in me even if nobody else did.” 


THE CAMP-FIRE 


221 


The words, forming themselves in her mind 
and drifting lazily past like the white clouds 
overhead, woke suddenly a memory of her 
father’s voice. “A friend — some one — who 
believes in you were the whole world against 
you — ‘Haply I think on thee . .. sings hymns 
at Heaven’s gate.’” 

Well, she had a friend now; she must con¬ 
trive to let Dad know — if she could do so 
without being sentimental. How did that 
stanza end? She must look it up when she got 
back to Ken-jockety; there was a volume of 
the “Sonnets” on the bookshelf. 

Joyce lay still a little longer enjoying a sense 
of well-being and comfort and savoring, too, 
this new idea of friends. There was Aunt Fran, 
and Judy, and Drew. She began to realize 
what it must have meant to her father to lose 
Michael Lawrence; she was glad he still had 
Uncle Graeme and Aunt Fran; he was right, 
Aunt Fran was a Person. He was right, too, 
about her luck in being here. She wouldn’t 
forget Aunt Fran’s trust, and, if Aunt Fran 
seemed to think it was so awfully important, 
she was certainly not going to lose her temper 
again. 

“ Coo-ee,” called Christine again — from 


222 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


halfway up the slope. ‘‘Sister Anne, Sister 
Anne, do you see anybody coming?” 

Joyce jumped to her feet and looked up the 
river and down to the portage. 

“‘Alas, my poor sister. No help is yet in 
sight, ’ 99 she quoted. 

“Well, come on down,” called Christine. 

So, tucking her letter into the pocket of her 
blouse, Joyce scrambled down to find Blue¬ 
beard’s wife taking counsel with her maids. 

“It’s five o’clock,” said Judith. “Chris 
thinks she’d better get the camp-fire going.” 

“You come with me, Joy,” urged Christine. 
“Judy must wait here with Nancy. I’ve told 
her that several times.” 

“Sure she must,” said Joyce, jumping into 
the canoe. “Besides, I’m the potato boy, and, 
much as I should enjoy Nancy’s society, ‘duty 
before pleasure’ as the lobster said when he 
swallowed the crab.” 

There was no red canoe on the beach when 
they landed at Two Pines. They got to work 
at once, and the fire was just burning well and 
the potatoes almost ready for the pot, when 
Drew’s piercing whistle was heard. 

“Judy and Nancy are waiting for the boys,” 
called Christine as soon as the canoe was 


THE CAMP-FIRE 223 

within earshot. ‘‘Show us your minnows. 
Drew.” 

Drew went through a pantomime of disgust 
and disappointment, and then, unable to wait 
till they landed, picked up a fish from the 
basket at his feet and held it up with pardon¬ 
able pride. 

“Ohhhh!” said Christine and Joyce to¬ 
gether. “What a dandy!” 

Uncle Ben was beaming. For once his fisher¬ 
man’s soul was satisfied. It had been a great 
day! 

“Izaak Walton had nothing to beat this,” 
he declared solemnly as he lifted out the catch 
to Drew who had landed first. “I used to 
think of him with envy, but now I’m sorry for 
him. He never fished for a gamey black bass 
in Canada, poor fellow! Cricky, that big one 
gave me a fight — I thought he was off a dozen 
times at least. Ah, there comes Judy now — 
with two strange young men. I’d better wash 
my hands before she introduces me as her re¬ 
spected parent. Christine, is the part in my 
hair straight? Do you think they will like my 
complexion? Don’t giggle, girl, advise me.” 

The newcomers proved to be two khaki- 
clad, well-tanned youths with the same springy 


224 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


carriage and alert keen eyes as Drew (“ though 
not nearly so good-looking/' thought Joyce 
privately as she hurried up to the fire again). 

How terrible if her johnnycake were not 
light and fluffy! Of course she had made it ex¬ 
actly as she did for breakfast at Ken-jockety — 
but one never knew. She hovered about the 
fire anxiously poking in little bits of sticks 
where they seemed needed in order to get an 
even heat. 

Uncle Ben and Drew performed miracles of 
speed in getting the fish ready for the pan, and 
luck was with Joyce, for her cake came out 
fluffy and light and browned to a most desir¬ 
able tint. She put the pan on one side of the fire 
to keep hot until the fish was ready to serve, 
and helped with the blueberry salad. The boys 
had brought a little bucketful of late raspber¬ 
ries from Muskoka, and as these were rarely 
found about Georgian Bay, Christine decided 
they would make them go as far as possible by 
mixing them with the blueberries they had 
picked that morning. 

It was the jolliest of meals. Anything 
would have tasted good eaten in such good 
company, and seasoned with that best of 
sauces, a keen out-of-doors appetite. 


THE CAMP-FIRE 


225 


The cooks were complimented upon their 
success and the johnny cake received especial 
praise. 

“A big piece, please, Sis,” said Jack, passing 
his plate for a third time. “ The girl who made 
that cake is an artist, a poet; henceforth I 
am the most ardent, if the humblest, of her 
admirers.” 

“Very nicely put,” said Nancy with a 
twinkle, for she guessed from something that 
had been said before that Jack thought Judith 
had cooked the cake before leaving to meet 
them. “ You wouldn’t get so much praise from 
them if you had written a poem, Joyce.” 

“Everything in good time,” said Dr. Ben¬ 
son. “I suppose, since mere men can’t make 
poetical johnny cakes, they can at least wash 
the pans. Dishwashing squad,’shun! Taking 
the paper napkin firmly in the right hand, and 
the plate in the left, with a quick circular 
motion to the right, swipe! One, two — ex¬ 
actly.” 

“Let’s do it to music,” suggested Tom. 
“Nancy will please oblige with ‘Drink to me 
only with thine eyes’ while we wipe the 
cups.” 

The dishes were soon washed and put away. 


226 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Drew and Jack built a bonfire down on the 
point, and the whole party adjourned there to 
watch the sunset. 

“It’s going to be absolutely gorgeous,” said 
Christine happily. “ There are enough clouds 
to make it beautiful; it’s lovely now, but wait 
till the afterglow! If only we had some music 
for the songs!” 

The sun had almost disappeared, but long 
bars of color banded the horizon: orange and 
rose, violet and palest primrose, blended at 
last in an exquisitely lovely shade of pale 
green. 

The little company sat quietly watching, 
while the sun dropped down behind the low 
clouds on the horizon; the pine-trees on the 
banks were etched in startling contrast against 
the glowing sky; a star appeared, shining like a 
jewel set in the green jade hand. 

“‘And o’er the crested pine shall hang one 
star,’” quoted Professor Davidson. 

“I’d be perfectly happy,” murmured Chris¬ 
tine, “if Mother were here to sing to us.” 

“Those colors are doing their best for you,” 
said Judith. “They really are a harmony, 
aren’t they? Though I wish we could have 
some music.” 


THE CAMP-FIRE 


227 


“To Judith, who may command me Anything,” 
parodied Jack cleverly — 

“Bid me to live, and I will live 
Thy musicker to be.” 

He was sitting with Drew a little apart from 
the rest of the group, and, as Judith turned to 
smile at the compliment, a tiny thread of thin 
elfin-like music seemed to trickle from his left 
hand. Every one turned in astonishment. 
Was this sleight-of-hand, or magic, or what? 
Some one, or something was undeniably hum¬ 
ming, “Drink to me only with Thine Eyes.” 

Nancy was the first to solve the puzzle. 

“Your ukulele!” she said. “You’ve hidden 
it very nicely, but you needn’t be so modest. 
Now we can have a sing-song. It’s what we’ve 
all been wanting to-day. Next time I go on a 
camping trip I’m going to bring a whistle or a 
mouth-organ, even if I have to leave my tooth¬ 
brush behind.” 

And sing they did with a right good will; 
“Swanee River,” and “Ole Black Joe,” “A la 
claire fontaine,” and “John Peel.” 

Then came requests for special favorites. 
Tom surprised every one by his “Annie Lau¬ 
rie”: then Nancy must sing “Might’ Lak A 
Rose,” which she did delightfully. 


228 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

“Now, it’s your turn, Uncle Graeme,” sug¬ 
gested Judith. “Please let us have ‘The 
Cruise of the Bugaboo. 5 ” 

“The Bugaboo” was applauded and Jack 
followed by request with 

“Under the greenwood tree. 

Who loves to lie with me. 

And tune his merry note, 

Unto the sweet bird’s throat, 

Come hither, come hither, come hither.” 

Jack, like Nancy, had a very pleasing voice. 
He broke off after the first stanza of the quaint 
old-fashioned song to say meditatively, “I won¬ 
der, now, if Will Shakespeare would have en¬ 
joyed this sort of thing? 55 

“Of course he would,” said Christine 
promptly. “ He 5 d have been a first-rate paddler 
and sailor, and swimmer and fisherman, and — 
oh, I know! — he’d have written something 
like‘Johnnie Courteau. 5 Let’s have ‘Johnnie 
Courteau, 5 please, Uncle Ben. We couldn't go 
camping without hearing ‘Johnnie Courteau. 5 
I wonder if Dr. Drummond composed it on a 
trip like this — seems as if he must have.” 

“Johnnie Courteau!” said the others in 
chorus. 

Uncle Ben was whittling a whistle, and had 


THE CAMP-FIRE 


229 


arrived at a critical point in its creation. 
Would it blow or would it not? He tried! It 
would not! 

66 Eh bien!” he grunted — 

“‘You bad leetle boy not moche you care 

How busy you’re kipin your poor grand pere.’ 

That’s ‘Leetle Bateese,’ riest-ce pas? Some¬ 
body start me!” 

“Johnnie Courteau of de mountain, 

Johnnie Courteau of de hill,” 

Christine prompted. 

“ Mais oui” said the doctor. “ I have heem.” 

“Johnnie Courteau of de mountain, 

Johnnie Courteau of de hill, 

Dat was de boy can shoot de gun, 

Dat was de boy can jomp an’ run. 

An’ it’s not very offen you ketch heem still, 

Johnnie Courteau. 


“Ax dem along de reever. 

Ax dem along de shore. 

Who was de mos’ bes’ fightin* man 
From Managanee to Shaw-in-i-gan? 

De place w’ere de great beeg rapide roar, 

Johnnie Courteau! 

“Sam’ t’ing on ev’ry shantee 
Up on de Mekinac, 


230 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Who was de man can walk de log, 

W’en w’ole of de reever she’s black wit’ fog 
An* carry de beeges’ load on hees back? 

Johnnie Courteauf 

The colors in the sky had deepened and soft¬ 
ened; there were more stars glittering now in 
the soft green in the west and in the deep blue 
overhead; behind them the woods were dark. 

Drew put another log on the fire, and for a 
few moments nobody spoke; every one sat 
looking contentedly into the dancing flames or 
into the soft loveliness of the sky. 

“My turn now,” said Drew. “Judy, will you 
please stand up on that high rock just behind 
you and say Pauline Johnson’s fi Song My Pad¬ 
dle Sings’?” 

“Oh,” groaned Judith. “Must I move, 
Drew? I’m so comfy here. What’s the idea?” 

“Picture,” said Drew. “Pine-tree to your 
right, afterglow behind, admiring audience at 
your feet!” 

Judith apparently couldn’t resist such an ap¬ 
peal, for she obediently climbed the rock. She 
gave a little cry of delight. 

“ Picture! — I should say it is: sunset, and 
the canoes down there on the shore; — the fire 
here, and those lovely pines — thank you. 
Drew.” 


THE CAMP-FIRE 


231 


Then, quite simply, but with an apprecia¬ 
tion of its beauty which she passed on to her 
hearers, she recited the Indian princess’s lovely 
lyric. 

“August is laughing across the sky. 

Laughing while paddle, canoe and I, 

Drift, drift, 

Where the hills uplift 

On either side of the current swift. 

“The river rolls in its rocky bed, 

My paddle is plying its way ahead; 

Dip, dip, 

While the waters flip 

In foam as over their breast we slip.” 

Judith looked down to where through the 
trees she could see the little river and the white 
foam of its rapids; unconsciously she spoke 
more quickly as she described the journey 
through the seething waters in the frail little 
craft. Then: 

“We’ve raced the rapid, we’re far ahead! 

The river slips through its silent bed. 

Sway, sway, 

As the bubbles spray 

And fall in tinkling tunes away. 

“And up on the hills against the sky, 

A fir-tree rocking its lullaby, 


232 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Swings, swings, 

Its emerald wings, 

Swelling the song that my paddle sings.” 

There was a moment’s silence as Judith fin¬ 
ished, a silence which was broken by a slight 
but unmistakable snore. 

“Oh, shameless one,” said Jack, shaking 
Tom who lay beside him comfortably propped 
against a fallen tree, “ have you no soul for po¬ 
etry and beauty?” 

“What’s the row?” inquired Tom sleepily 
amid the laughter of the others. 

“Row’s the right word,” said Jack severely. 
“And as you made it — ” 

“I expect we’re all sleepy,” said Professor 
Graeme; “all good campers go to bed early.” 

“Good-night, ladies,” tinkled the ukulele. 
“Good-night, ladies,” boomed Uncle Ben’s 
bass and Drew’s tenor. And “Good-night, 
ladies,” they all sang together, just for the 
pleasure of singing once more. 


CHAPTER XII 

JOYCE LEARNS THE MEANING OF LOVE 

“What’s that, rain?” asked Joyce. “Chris¬ 
tine Davidson, it’s pouring! Ugh, how clammy 
and moist everything feels!” She pulled the 
blanket up a little more closely. 

“Well, don’t be so indignant,” said Chris¬ 
tine. “We’ll just have to make the best of 
things — Oh, Joyce!” 

There was dismay in the last two words. 

She had picked up Joyce’s middy and serge 
knickers and was holding them at arm’s 
length, for they were more than moist, they 
were dripping wet. 

“I must have pushed them over into this 
little hollow at the side when I tied the tent 
flaps in the night,” said Christine. “It’s too 
bad. I heard something fall. You had them 
on this branch, hadn’t you? I am sorry.” But 
Christine didn’t look very sorry; indeed, in a 
moment she was laughing again. 

“I do wish it were light enough in here to 
take a snap-shot,” she exclaimed. “You look 


234 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


absolutely tragic, Joy, holding out those wet 
stockings as if they were dead rabbits, or — ” 

“Don’t be so silly,” said Joyce rather 
crossly. “Tell me how I’m to get these things 
dried. I can’t put them on, that’s certain. I 
suppose there’s no fire, since it’s raining.” 

“Oh, yes, there is,” said Christine peni¬ 
tently. “Drew has been up for some time, and 
he’s got a fire under a shelter, I expect. I’ll 
dress in a jiffy and take these down to dry. 
Better get up, Judibus, I’m afraid I’ll step on 
some outlying portion of you. We are like sar¬ 
dines in a tin, aren’t we? You all right, Nancy? 
That’s good. I wonder what we’re going to 
have for breakfast. I’m hungry, anyway.” 

“I’m wondering whether I’ll get up at all,” 
groaned Judith. “Christine, I wish I knew 
where you get your over-supply of energy. 
It’s outrageous of you to be able to talk so 
much before breakfast. Oh, dear, I’m stiff.” 

“First call for breakfast,” called Drew from 
the kitchen camp. “ Coffee’s going on now — la¬ 
dies will not be waited for after the second call! 
Gentlemen will begin on the pancakes immedi¬ 
ately, having been up for the last hour!” 

There was a scurrying and a hurrying in the 
tent. Judith, apparently, thought that break- 


THE MEANING OF LOVE 235 


fast promised to be too good to miss, and she 
and Nancy hastily dressed and went off to the 
kitchen camp. 

Joyce decided to be thoroughly cross and 
miserable. 

How careless of Christine to push her clothes 
right out under the flap of the tent! They 
wouldn’t be dry for hours and hours, and she’d 
have to stay here in this miserable little place 
with a damp blanket over her! Oh, dear! 
How her shoulders and back ached! What a 
wretched thing a spruce bed was! Every single 
twig just sticking into one’s very bones! 

These dismal reflections were interrupted by 
the appearance of Christine carrying a plate 
heaped high with delicious-looking pancakes. 
Nancy followed with a steaming cup of coffee. 

“The cook’s compliments; these are the best 
of the batch! You’re to shout when you’re 
ready for more. But you poor thing! You do 
look melancholy. I’ll bring my breakfast in 
here, too.” 

“No, you won’t,” said Nancy, “because I 
mean to myself. You go and cheer up Judy. I 
can’t succeed.” 

The two had breakfast together, and Joyce 
forgot her woes listening to Nancy’s account of 


236 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


the skating parties they had had at school the 
winter before. 

The rain came down steadily. It was not 
“pouring” as Joyce had declared, but was just 
a persistent “soft wet” rain, and the very best 
sort of rain for the fisherman, so Uncle Ben as¬ 
serted. 

Jack and Tom had packed a luncheon while 
Drew got the breakfast, and, before Joyce and 
Nancy had finished their pancakes, the men 
were ready to set off for a morning’s fishing at 
little Gull Lake. 

“What time are we to expect you?” called 
Christine after them. “Three o’clock? Well, 
be sure you aren’t later. Mother will be look¬ 
ing for us, you know.” 

“Wouldn’t you think they’d had enough 
fishing yesterday?” she continued to Judith, 
who was helping her wash the breakfast 
dishes. 

“If they like to fish they never have enough 
of it,” said Judith sagely. “ But I don’t believe 
it’s always fishing they’re after; they just 
want to be up and doing something . Wouldn’t 
you rather have a perfectly good excuse to take 
you away on a trip whenever things seemed 
a bit dull? Nicer than staying in camp this 


THE MEANING OF LOVE 237 


morning, at all events. What are we going to 
do with ourselves?” 

“Try to get Joyce dry, first of all,” said 
Christine. “We’ll have to keep a good fire 
blazing; serge is so hard to dry; Nancy is a per¬ 
fect darling, isn’t she? Just listen to how she is 
laughing and talking to poor Joyce! I’m afraid 
she’ll have to stay in bed most of the morning; 
we haven’t any extra clothes except a change 
of undies. Well, we’d better plan a nice lunch, 
and then crawl into the tent and cheer up the 
prisoner; it’s a pity we didn’t bring some sort 
of a game with us. Oh, Judy, do tell me more 
about the Form parties at York Hill; I can 
hardly wait until September!” 

The rain might be good for fish, and so for 
fishermen, and for Christine, who was in the 
highest of spirits, but not at all pleasant for 
Joyce under her damp blankets. 

However, she had no intention of emulating 
Achilles by sulking in her tent, and was quite 
ready to take her part in the morning’s fun. 

Judith and Christine produced their hem¬ 
stitching, Joyce tried to carve a paperweight 
out of a bit of red cedar, and Nancy drew 
caricatures of all and sundry as she had seen 
them around last night’s camp-fire. 


238 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


They chattered and gossiped about past and 
present and future doings, and were not at all 
willing that Christine should do all the talking. 
The final sailing match at next week’s regatta 
was the favorite topic. Christine and Joyce 
were loyally sure that Comet was bound to 
carry off the cup, but Judith shook her head 
doubtfully. 

“Drew’s a mighty good sailor,” she said, 
“but so is Hugh, and the Gull is the better 
boat.” 

Christine kept up a good fire and by lunch¬ 
time Joyce was in warm dry clothes once more. 
The clouds were breaking up, and the rain had 
ceased, but Christine, who was weather-wise, 
declared that she was glad that they were leav¬ 
ing camp that night, as it looked as if they were 
in for a three days’ blow. 

After an early lunch they packed the dun¬ 
nage-bags, and left the camp as tidy as they 
found it, with everything ready to be packed 
into the canoes as soon as the boys should 
appear. Supper they would eat on the way. 
Then in their two canoes they started across 
the lake to meet their menfolk. 

“We’d better not go far,” said Judith. “We 
might miss them behind one of those islands. 


THE MEANING OF LOVE 239 

Let’s land on the mainland there; we’d have a 
pretty good lookout from under those pines.” 

‘‘Good idea,” said Nancy, “and, better still, 
if you’d add, ‘and let’s have a little sleep 
while Christine keeps watch. ’ I’m positive she 
couldn’t go to sleep!” 

So it was decided, but Joyce, after her long 
rest in the morning, didn’t feel sleepy either, 
so she and Christine took the berry-tins and 
hunted about to find fresh berries for sup¬ 
per. 

“Not much luck here,” said Christine after 
an hour’s search spent investigating several 
promising-looking patches, only to find the 
berries dried up. “ It’s getting too late in the 
season for blueberries, and the thimbleberries 
are hardly ripe yet. However, we must try the 
cranberry swamp for them when we get home. 
I can hardly wait now to get back and I was so 
anxious to get away. Won’t it be lovely to be 
home again, Joy?” 

“It will, indeed,” said Joyce heartily. The 
home faces flashed before her mind’s eye: 
Peggy — darling little thing, and Dicky —• 
yes, even Dicky with his irresistible grin, and 
Aunt Fran with the beautiful serene eyes —- 
Aunt Fran who was the center and light of the 


240 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


home. Joyce suddenly felt a little lump in her 
throat. How good Aunt Fran had been to her! 
How dear to take her right in, and make her at 
home! It was a big thing to do. Joyce was be¬ 
ginning to realize that. No wonder Daddy had 
said — 

“No sign of ’em yet,” called back Christine 
who had run on ahead. “But, oh, Joybells! 
Here are some ripe thimbleberries! ” 

Joyce ran to get her share, but the vines 
were tangled about some juniper bushes 
growing on a little island separated from the 
shore by only a few yards of swamp and 
water. 

“Wait till I get the canoe,” said Joyce. “It 
can’t be very far away. Where are those 
girls?” 

“Wait? Not me, with thimbleberries in 
sight,” laughed Christine, “and certainly not 
when I have logs to punt over.” 

She pointed to some pine logs which had 
drifted into one end of the little channel. 

“You sit down at your ease,” continued 
Christine, “and watch me do the giddy lum¬ 
berman act a la Johnnie Courteau!” Fasten¬ 
ing her can to her middy-tie, she seized a young 
sapling and began to punt herself across. 


THE MEANING OF LOVE 241 

“ 4 Who was de man can walk de log 

W’en w’ole of de reever she’s black wit’ fog 
An* carry de beeges’ load on hees back? 

Johnnie Courteau.’ 

Come on, Joybells. Take a log and I’ll race 
you.” 

44 Be careful, Chris, you nearly went over 
that time,” said Joyce. 44 The water looks hor¬ 
ridly dirty and weedy. Watch out — there’s 
a sunken tree there! ” 

But she was too late, the log struck a branch 
of the tree below water, and turned with in¬ 
credible swiftness on its wet slimy side plung¬ 
ing Christine into the dark water. 

Joyce looked to see the laughing face reap¬ 
pear at once. But there was no sign of Christine. 

Joyce needed no invitation this time. Chris 
must have struck a snag in falling. She might 
be — suffocating — drowning — down there, 
and Joyce must give her back safe and sound to 
Aunt Fran! Like lightning the thought flashed, 
and then she was under the water searching for 
Christine. 

As she feared, the water was full of dank, 
slimy weeds and the branches of a tree which 
had evidently fallen into the water from the 
overhanging bank. 


242 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


But where was Chris? 

Joyce groped around for a minute or two, 
and a horrible thought crept into her mind. 

Where was Chris — darling Chris? 

She came up for a breath; she was facing out 
toward the little island; had Chris swum out 
from under the logs? 

No, the logs were still lying like sleepy croco¬ 
diles, the sun still shone on water and rock, but 
there was no Christine laughing joyously. 

Joyce closed her mind on the thought. 

“Steady/’ she said to herself as she went 
down again. “Steady; she must be here; she 
must be here; she must be here.” 

For the second time she came up for breath, 
panting as much from the cold fear that was 
beginning to clutch at her heart as from fa¬ 
tigue. 

“Diving for pearls or for exercise?” asked a 
gay voice behind her. 

Joyce turned to see Christine sitting astride 
the log which had floated in nearer the shore. 
She had evidently swum toward the shore as 
Joyce had gone out, and Joyce, looking out to¬ 
ward the island, had in some unaccountable 
way missed seeing her the first time she came 
up for breath. 


THE MEANING OF LOVE 243 

Joyce pulled herself up out of the water 
without saying a word; her silence ought to 
have been a signal of the anger that was rising 
within her. But Christine was excited and un¬ 
like herself that day. She took no notice of 
Joyce’s anxiety or discomfort, but burst into 
laughter at the sight of her face streaked with 
slime and the juice of some water-weed. 

“Oh, Joybells, you do look funny!” More 
laughter. “Exactly like a naughty dog we had, 
one of those long-haired ones; he used to stick 
his nose into the coal-scuttle as soon as he’d 
had a bath — and the way your hair is plas¬ 
tered down —!” 

It was the last straw! To be told that she 
looked like a naughty dog when she had rather 
fancied herself as an heroic rescuer! The irrita¬ 
tion, which had threatened trouble earlier in 
the day, blazed forth now in a sudden over¬ 
whelming gust of anger. Her face was dis¬ 
torted with a rage which she seemed to be 
making no effort to control. She said nothing, 
but, seizing the log, gave an angry little push 
which sent Christine headlong into the water 
again. 

Then she scrambled up on to the bank with¬ 
out casting a look behind her, and began to 


244 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

run along the shore, as if trying to get away 
from some invisible pursuer. 

No tender thought now of Christine nor of 
Aunt Fran! Everything blotted out but rage 
that she should have been made to seem a fool, 
that she should have been told she looked like 
a dog! Nothing but rage that her pride had 
been touched — pride in herself — pride in the 
Joyce who was to save Christine’s life and give 
her back to Aunt Fran in safety. 

She had no idea but to get away from Chris¬ 
tine. As she ran, she was conscious of nothing 
but consuming anger. That Christine should 
dare! That Christine should dare! That Chris¬ 
tine should dare! 

She did not know where she was going, gave 
no glance at lake or sky or rocky path, was un¬ 
conscious of her wet garments and dripping 
hair. 

She did not know how long she had been 
running when, at a sudden turn around a rock 
— Dre w striding along, his hands full of deli¬ 
cate lady’s-slippers. 

“Hullo!” he said gayly. “What ever — ?” 

Joyce saw the terror leap into his eyes — 
the eyes so like Christine’s — as he saw her wet 
clothes and her livid face. 


THE MEANING OF LOVE 245 

“Chris?” he gasped. “Where did you leave 
her?” 

There was a heartbeat’s terrifying silence. 

As long as she lived, Joyce would never for¬ 
get that moment of awful awakening. 

She tried to speak. Her lips moved stiffly, 
but no sound came. 

Drew seized her arm. 

“Quick,” he cried, “quick, every second 
counts.” 

His eyes seemed to burn down into her 
guilty heart — those eyes so like Christine’s. 

Joyce’s lips moved again. 

Would this agony never leave her? Could it 
be borne? Could she tell Drew? 

What nemesis had moulded the form of his 
question, “Where did you leave her?” 

“I left her — in the water — my fault —” 

She lifted her hands to cover her face. 

But Drew gripped her so that his fingers bit 
like steel bands. Like blue steel now were his 
eyes — the eyes that had been so like Chris¬ 
tine’s. 

“Where?” he said. 

Joyce looked about dazedly. 

“ I don’t — know — down there — perhaps 
— I don’t know — where I am —” 


246 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“You must think — think hard — were you 
near the camp? Which direction from it? The 
way we went this morning?” 

Joyce’s mind cleared. 

“ Yes,” she said. “ We were following you — 
we landed on the shore near a little island — 
comes close to the shore — logs there.” 

Drew was off like an arrow loosed from a 
taut bow-string. But he called back. 

“ Follow — don’t wander off — I’ll whistle 
when I find her — safe.” 

Joyce followed as well as she could, jumping 
from rock to rock, cutting across through a 
swampy bit of underbrush; twice she stumbled 
and fell, but she did not feel her bruises. 

“Chris! Chris! How could I? Oh, how 
could I? The weeds may have trapped her — 
and the logs — Chris! I’m not fit to be alive! 
How could I? How could I? Why does Drew 
bother about me? I ought to get lost and die.” 

Suddenly, as she was reaching the edge of 
her endurance, she heard unmistakably two 
long piercing whistles. 

Something gave way in Joyce’s knees and she 
flung herself down on the smooth rock; some¬ 
thing, too, gave way in her heart — something 
hard and selfish, something proud and cruel. 



QUICK,” HE CRIED, “QUICK, EVERY SECOND COUNTS 


























































































































































THE MEANING OF LOVE 247 

Flat on the rock, her face covered so that 
even the sun might not see her humiliation, 
Joyce prayed her first real prayer: 

“I don’t deserve it, God; it seems too good 
— that she’s safe. Oh, help me, for I can’t do 
it myself — I’ve tried and I’ve failed — help 
me to be strong enough to conquer myself —• 
my evil temper. Help me, for I need help.” 

She lay still, numbed by the violence of her 
passion and the agony of her awakening and 
remorse. She felt that she never wanted to un¬ 
cover her face again, never could walk upright 
and look the others straight in the eye again, 
Christine, Judith — Uncle Graeme, Aunt 
Frances — Drew, with his eyes so like Chris¬ 
tine’s. 

Would this bitter humiliation always bow 
her head? 

Drew found her there when he returned 
a little later. 

“She’s all right, cracked her head a bit, 
that’s all,” he called as he came near enough to 
be heard. “ She says, please to hurry. The other 
fellows have come and we want to have some 
tea at the portage and get home in good time.” 

“Her head?” asked Joyce, disregarding his 
attempt to speak casually. 


248 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

“ Uncle Ben has bound it up — lucky he had 
his little kit along! Says you never know what 
will happen on a camping trip: all sorts of 
things, sprains and bruises and burns, you 
know, and cuts —” 

Drew stood there waiting; he was trying to 
help her; she must get up. 

Then came the sound of Drew’s penknife on 
a piece of wood. 

“I think I’ll make a couple more toasting- 
forks for tea; I can’t give you much longer, 
Joyce; we want to push on after Chris has had 
a hot cup of tea; Uncle Ben wants to get her 
home.” 

“Drew! Why didn’t you tell me!” Joyce 
was on her feet in an instant. 

“There’s no rush, Joy. And don’t go back 
looking so tragic. I’ll tell you exactly what 
happened. She slipped on a log, apparently, 
and came down head first on the rock at the 
shore line. Luckily her head was out of water 
— you see, she was just regaining conscious¬ 
ness when I got there.” 

“Drew, she didn’t slip, I —” 

“I don’t know what happened. Nobody 
does but you and Chris, and you two can keep 
your own counsel. It’s nobody’s affair but 


THE MEANING OF LOVE 249 


your own. Judy and Jack have paddled over 
for the tea-things. Nancy and Dad have a fire 
going and the kettle on, and they’ll be ready 
with a cup of tea by the time we get back.” 

The blue eyes were steady — and kind. 

“I must tell you,” she said. “I was in a rage 
and pushed the log Christine was on. She fell 
in, and I never even looked to see if she were 
safe. I oughtn’t to be allowed to live with de¬ 
cent people — and Aunt Fran trusted Chris¬ 
tine to me.” 

There was such bitter pain in the last words 
that Drew winced at her suffering. 

“It’s beastly for you,” he said gravely, 
“simply beastly — but I’d have sworn that 
you were no quitter, that if you had a hard 
job you’d tackle it, and that you’d scorn to 
knuckle down to a temper.” 

His eyes sought Joyce’s and held them 
steadily — a friendly reassurance was there, 
a friendly belief in her. 

“Drew, I’ll try.” 

“Then I’ll bet on you,” said Drew simply. 
“Now we’d better get back. Suppose you 
bathe your eyes while I see if I can get this bit 
of red cedar; it looks as if it would make a good 
hat-rack.” 


250 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

The return journey was accomplished 
swiftly, and every one was too busy in the 
camp to do more than call to them an admoni¬ 
tion to hurry. 

Christine, looking very white under her 
bandages, beckoned as they approached, made 
room for Joyce on the rug beside her, and be¬ 
gan to talk gayly as soon as they were within 
earshot. 

“So you’ve got some red cedar! Mum will 
be pleased, and Dicky is simply dying for an¬ 
other piece. I s’pose Drew told you about my 
silly head. Well, that’s that. I wish we had 
something to take home to Peggy; at least we 
can pull her some birch bark from the fallen 
tree at the chute; she loves it for making all 
sorts of things. Isn’t this the neatest bandage 
you ever saw? Uncle Ben thinks I’ve a model 
head for bandaging. Why, I slipped on the 
rock and bumped my head just after you left, 
and I’m to be a lady of leisure all the way home 
just to reward me for my silliness.” 

The words were trivial enough, but in 
Christine’s eyes was a wistful, beseeching look 
as if she were asking forgiveness. 

Joyce felt bewildered. She to forgive Chris¬ 
tine! What did Chris mean? 


THE MEANING OF LOVE £51 


Then she shut her mind on all thinking, 
and drank the cup of hot tea Judith brought 
them. 

It was while the boys were stowing the 
dunnage-bags into the canoes, and Judith and 
Nancy were making a comfortable place for 
the invalid in the red canoe that Christine 
managed to get in a private word with Joyce. 

“Forgive me, Joy,” she said, “I cannot for¬ 
give myself; I hate to think of how I thanked 
you — before —” 

For a moment Joyce felt bewildered again, 
then she saw that Christine was realizing her, 
Joyce’s remorse, and, in addition to penitence 
for her own thoughtless mockery, was accept¬ 
ing a share in the responsibility for the catas¬ 
trophe. 

“Don’t ask my forgiveness,” Joyce said; 
and then, almost fiercely, “Chris, don’t you 
understand that I pushed the log, that I might 
have killed you?” 

“Hush,” said Christine quickly. “All right 
Judy, darlin’, we’re coming this very instant. 
Daddy, I don’t need to be carried; just put 
your arm around me to steady me, and I’ll put 
my dizzy old head on your shoulder — cer¬ 
tainly I can keep quiet. Uncle Ben, if I want to 


252 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

— very well, then, I shan’t talk at all — I’ll go 
to sleep.” 

It was with Drew that Joyce paddled home. 
Drew who declared that he felt too sleepy to 
talk, so, if she didn’t mind, they’d paddle like 
Indians, and only grunt at intervals to show 
they were there. 

The journey home was uneventful; Judith 
and Nancy, Jack and Tom, in the first two 
canoes, led the way; the red canoe and the 
Veery followed closely behind, and steady pad¬ 
dling and quick portaging brought them in 
sight of Boschink and Ken-jockety sooner than 
Joyce had thought possible. 

Good-byes were said; Uncle Ben promised to 
see his patient next morning, and then the two 
canoes headed for Ken-jockety’s wharf. 

Loving eyes were evidently on the lookout, 
for Peggy and Dicky were soon seen dancing 
about on the wharf and holding up the lantern 
at various points. 

“Lots of adventures, Mummy, dear,” said 
Christine as she clambered out on to the wharf. 
“A bear’s tracks, and a baby porcupine, and I 
bumped my head, only it’s better, and a won¬ 
derful sunset, and Indians attacking us in the 
night — the thermos exploding. —” 


THE MEANING OF LOVE 253 


“How did you hurt your head, darling?” 
said her mother going straight to the heart of 
the matter. 

“ Slipped on a nasty log, Mum, and my fault 
because —” 

“It was my fault,” said Joyce in a quiet 
voice. “I—” 

“Not now, dear,” said Mrs. Davidson. Her 
eyes sought her husband’s. 

“Ben says she’s all right,” he pronounced 
cheerfully. “She’ll have to keep quiet for a 
while, however, which will be rather hard on 
such a flibbertigibbet; better put her to bed 
up here, Mother, where you can have an eye to 
her.” 

So it was decided. Peggy, highly delighted, 
came down to the chalet, and there was a 
great running to and fro, carrying bedclothes 
and nightgear, and trying to give a brief ac¬ 
count of the trip, all at once. Obviously, it was 
no time for Joyce to explain matters to Mrs. 
Davidson. 

She found her opportunity next morning, 
however. Peggy and Dicky were fishing off the 
end of the dock, Christine wrapped in a rug 
was lying comfortably asleep in the deck¬ 
chair, and Mrs. Davidson came down to the 


254 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


chalet with a dressing-gown which had been 
dropped on the rocks the night before, and had 
successfully eluded Peggy’s search. She met 
Joyce halfway up to the bungalow and her 
mother-heart felt a pang at sight of the white 
young face, so strained and weary. 

“May I speak to you, Aunt Fran?” said 
Joyce. “I have been waiting until you were 
free.” 

She turned and went back with Mrs. David¬ 
son to the chalet. 

“What does Uncle Ben say this morning?” 

“He says Christine is a credit to him; you 
mustn’t worry about her, dear; it was a nasty 
blow, but fortunately far enough from her tem¬ 
ple. Christine says you are blaming yourself 
unduly. She heard you tell me it was your 
fault, and will not have it. She seems to have 
given you great provocation. She is grateful 
and I am, too, for your quick and generous 
plunge to save her.” 

“Don’t,” said Joyce, “don’t say such 
things. I can’t bear them. Aunt Fran, you 
don’t know; I had lost my temper entirely; I 
might have killed her. You trusted her to me, 
and I pushed the log and — ran away — she 
might have died with no one there.” 


THE MEANING OF LOVE 255 

In spite of herself Mrs. Davidson shivered 
slightly, but she put her arm around Joyce and 
drew her down beside her. 

And I still trust you,” she said confidently 
and reassuringly. “I believe that you are go¬ 
ing to get the better of this quick temper. And, 
Joyce, remember what we talked of before; you 
do not need to fight alone. There is One more 
ready to help than you are to ask. ‘ God is a 
very present help.’” 

Joyce considered this. No, in spite of the 
prayer which had risen almost spontaneously 
to her lips in her hour of need, this meant noth¬ 
ing to her. How could God help her? She 
looked puzzled and dissatisfied. Evidently 
Aunt Fran believed it to be true — but then. 
Aunt Fran was — religious. 

“There may be an ugly scar on Christine’s 
face, Aunt Fran,” Joyce persisted. 

“We hope not,” was the quiet reply; “but if 
there were, Joyce” (the mother-lips trembled 
ever so slightly — Christine’s dear face!) — 
“ if there were, I should be glad , if it could help 
to vanquish forever this foe that so often over¬ 
comes you.” 

Joyce looked steadily into the beautiful se¬ 
rene eyes, and in a flash she understood. These 


256 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


were not mere words she had heard. This was 
God helping her — Drew, Christine, and Aunt 
Fran, forgiving, loving her; this was Love, 
full and free and generous; this was Truth, 
wide and deep and eternal; this was God 
helping her. 

Mrs. Davidson, seeing the light on her face 
and in her eyes, kissed her lightly and went 
quietly away. 

Joyce stood looking out to the far horizon. 
She began to see, as 4 through a glass darkly/ 
that the chains of Pride which had bound her 
were indeed broken, and that in the light of the 
gracious Truth of Love, she was no longer cap¬ 
tive, but free. 


CHAPTER XIII 
THE REGATTA 

Christine had declared that she could keep 
quiet if she wanted to, but she found it very 
hard to ‘want to’ during the next few days. 

For was not the regatta to be held on Satur¬ 
day of the very next week? And if she herself 
were not going to take part, were not Peggy 
and Dicky and Drew and Judith and Charlotte 
and Hugh and Joyce? 

Yes, Joyce! It had been hard for Joyce to 
consent to go into the races, with Christine 
only an onlooker, but Christine had been so 
shocked at the mere idea of her not taking 
part, so genuinely distressed, that Joyce gave 
in, and determined to do her best, if only to 
increase, by a little, the sum of Christine’s 
happiness. 

So her mornings were spent practicing for 
the war-canoe race with Alison and Judith and 
Nancy, for canoe doubles with Alison and 
with Hugh, and her afternoons, or as much of 
them as Aunt Frances would permit after such 
strenuous mornings, improving her diving un- 


258 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

der Christine’s critical eye, or coaching Peggy 
in the gentle art of managing a row-boat. 

Christine, whose bandages were to come off 
on the great day and be replaced by a “neat 
little, sweet little dressing,” to quote Uncle 
Ben, consulted the barometer anxiously. It 
was almost time for another three days’ blow: 
they hadn’t had the one she had prophesied 
the week before, the weather had been too 
good to last; they must have a breeze; that 
went without saying; Comet, for instance, 
liked a nice stiff little breeze; but it mustn’t be 
too rough; that would spoil the diving and 
swimming and canoeing. 

Drew was so busy setting up buoys, meas¬ 
uring distances, consulting Captain Adam 
about the prizes, and doing the thousand and 
one things that some one — usually a very oblig¬ 
ing nice some one — has to do, if a community 
event is to be a success, that he hardly had 
time to eat his meals. Dicky, who had entered 
for six different events “for boys, twelve and 
under,” stayed in the water to the very last 
minute allowed him, and then retired to se¬ 
cluded spots and solemnly and earnestly per¬ 
formed spider-like evolutions with his arms 
and legs. He even asked Drew as a special 


THE REGATTA 


259 


favor to wake him early, so he could get in an 
extra practice; for was not a watch the first 
prize for the greatest number of points in his 
class, and was not Dicky’s supreme ambition 
in life just at present to own a watch — a 
watch that would go? He had a watch. Oh, 
yes! It looked all right, but you had to wiggle 
yourself to keep it going. And that, in polite 
society, has its drawbacks. 

Of course it was a fine day. Christine 
needn’t have worried. One of Wahnanee’s 
best — blue and golden and breezy, but not 
too breezy — warm, but not too warm — just 
perfection! 

Breakfast received scant attention that 
morning: indeed, it was only by dire and terri¬ 
ble threats that Mrs. Davidson succeeded in 
getting Dicky and Peggy to take sufficient food 
to sustain them during a strenuous morning. 

The Gray Goose came clucking across the 
bay before the breakfast was cleared away, 
and there was Aunt Margaret with a green 
umbrella big enough for her and Mrs. David¬ 
son to sit under and watch the events comfort¬ 
ably, and there were Judith and Nancy in 
bathing-suits under their ulsters, and Uncle 
Ben in white flannels and his college blazer. 


260 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


carrying the little bag which contained Chris¬ 
tine’s “neat little, sweet little dressing.” 

Joyce hovered unobtrusively near while the 
doctor took off the bandage. “Bee-yewtiful,” 
she heard him say. “Now you look at that, 
Frances — there won’t be a sign of a scar 
below her hair; this little one will be quite 
hidden; that’s — ” 

Joyce didn’t wait to hear the rest; she didn’t 
want any one to see the happy tears in her 
eyes. 

“I shan’t need the scar, Aunt Fran,” she 
murmured to herself as she ran down to the 
chalet to change into her bathing-suit. “I’ll 
never forget.” 

When the Goose and Sputter, each trailing 
her own canoes, reached the Big Dock, they 
found it already swarming with white-clad, 
happy-looking people, big and little — espe¬ 
cially little! 

“I can’t help being surprised at the number 
of children, of people, for that matter, in Wah- 
nanee,” Nancy confided to Joyce. “The Bay 
seems so quiet at ordinary times; one wouldn’t 
suspect that there were so many campers.” 

“Me, too,” said Joyce. “I’m still meeting 
new people, though I’ve been here for six 


THE REGATTA 261 

weeks. And they’re all nice, that’s the amaz¬ 
ing thing. Isn’t it the darling place?” 

“Only one nicer,” said Nancy, twinkling. 
“You must come down to Quebec before you 
make up your mind as to the nicest.” 

On the Big Dock was bewildering noise and 
confusion. 

Judith and Christine were each trying to 
talk to two or three people at the same time; 
Hugh was buzzing about, a trail of laughter in 
his wake; Dicky and his special crowd were un¬ 
dertaking to show off before a group of small 
girls who regarded them with mild disdain; 
mothers were cautioning their offspring to be 
careful not to get overheated nor yet “ under¬ 
heated”; fathers were feeling themselves rather 
superfluous and envying the lads their over¬ 
flowing good spirits and abounding health. 

“Makes me feel Christmas Carol-y,” de¬ 
clared Judith, who had just clambered up to 
the rock where her mother, Mrs. Davidson, 
and Christine were establishing themselves, to 
give the latter a hug and promise that the Gos¬ 
ling should certainly win the war-canoe race, 
and that the four boxes of candy, which were 
to go to the winners, should be deposited at 
Christine’s fair feet. 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


262 

The sheltered waters on each side of the 
rocky peninsula, from which jutted the Big 
Dock, had been selected as suitable for the 
swimming and diving tests. The children were 
to compete on the south side, while at the same 
time their bigger brothers and sisters were 
working off their events on the north. Deer Is¬ 
land gave a welcome shelter from the breeze 
which was freshening up very satisfactorily for 
the afternoon’s sailing races. 

On the rocks behind the dock were seated 
the highly interested (and highly prejudiced) 
spectators. 

“This is going to be a terrible ordeal,” said 
Dr. Benson solemnly to the laughing group of 
girls who were standing beside the big spring¬ 
board ready for the Captain’s whistle. 

Uncle Ben was a general favorite; the fresh 
young faces in their gay-colored caps turned 
toward him, nodding and smiling like a bed of 
pansies in the spring sunshine. 

“Last summer we were up here,” he con¬ 
fided, “Judy wouldn’t dive at all; she tried 
once or twice and hit the water — smack! She 
says she’s a perfectly beautiful diver now, but I 
can’t help being slightly nervous.” 

“Dad!” said the outraged Judith. “You 
know I’m not a perfectly beautiful —” 


THE REGATTA 


263 


“That’s what I am afraid of, my dear.” 

The whistle blew, Charlotte who had drawn 
the unlucky ticket with “I” printed on it, shed 
her coat, and, feeling that she was in the mid¬ 
dle of one of those nightmares in which one 
finds one’s self in a crowded street unsuitably 
clad in a nightgown, raised her arms, wished 
“to goodness” she hadn’t bought a bathing- 
suit with such loud stripes on it, and then, 
splash! she was down under cover of the pro¬ 
tecting water. 

Then came II, III, IV, Judith’s turn. She 
took up a good position and dived neatly and 
gracefully. 

Uncle Ben didn’t look as if he were ashamed. 

Then Joyce came forward poised as if for 
flight and darted down and through the water 
like a swift arrow. 

This was preliminary, although points were 
being industriously added up by Dr. Morton 
and the rest of the committee. 

Now each competitor was to perform a dive 
of her own choosing in which grace would be 
the stressed point. 

“I hate to call it ‘The Swallow,’ ” said Char¬ 
lotte, laughing good-naturedly at herself as 
she went forward the second time. “I’ll be 
much more like a goose.” 


264 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

“Good old Charley,” thought Joyce. “She 
knows she can’t dive!” 

Down she went, this time with much less 
splash. 

There was a round of applause from the 
spectators. 

“Lovely, Kate,” murmured Judith, as Num¬ 
ber III made a beautiful curve. “ Just like 
a gull — that one! We’re both ‘Swans,’ aren’t 
we, Joy?” 

Joyce nodded. Of course Judith would win! 
She did everything so well, thought Joyce de¬ 
spairingly. Well, Christine would be pleased, 
no matter who won, but, as Judy was pretty 
sure of the canoe singles, she would like to win 
this. 

Judith stepped forward, poised, then dived. 

The crowd on the dock and up on the rocks 
applauded vigorously. It was lost on Judith, 
now under water, but Dr. Benson treasured up 
the “lovely’s,” and “exquisite’s,” and “per¬ 
fect poise and grace.” He’d tell them over to 
Judy’s mother that night. Who wouldn’t be 
proud! 

Joyce went toward the spring-board, but 
Dr. Morton stopped her for a moment while 
he removed a splinter from the board. She 


THE REGATTA 


265 


turned and waved her hand in the direction of 
the green umbrella. Christine waved her hand¬ 
kerchief vigorously. 

Joyce felt a sudden glow. (“Haply I think on 
thee.”) Judy had better look to her laurels. 

She ran out to the end of the board, her 
cheeks rosed, her eyes sparkling; she poised 
carefully this time, remembering that she had 
been too quick before. 

“A nymph,” said one onlooker. 

“A naiad, or a grace!” some one completed 
the line. 

There was a storm of applause as she pulled 
herself up out of the water. Judith and Nancy 
were ready with her coat and congratulations, 
but Joyce’s eyes flew to the hillside. Yes, there 
was Christine beaming and waving both her 
hands. 

“You didn’t grow swan’s wings on purpose 
for the event, Joyce? I ask it in the spirit of 
the scientist,” called Hugh from the canoe 
where he was helping Drew measure distances. 
“Kindly save your muscle and skill for the 
doubles. Ted’s vainglorious and simply asking 
to be beaten; I tell him he and Charlotte may 
have weight and brute force, but — as for 
brains and beauty!” 


266 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

“See that you don’t talk, then,” said Joyce 
serenely. “For if my brains are not given a 
fair chance, your beauty will be of very little 
use to us. The prize is a perfectly nice pen¬ 
knife; Drew told me, and I’m just crazy for a 
new penknife.” 

Laughter and chaffing, sunshine and pine- 
scented air, youth and joy of friendly rivalry! 
Oh, a very happy morning! 

It was gone all too soon, and mothers were 
gathering together their scattered broods, and 
fathers were tooting the horns on the motor- 
boats as a “first call to luncheon,” when Dr. 
Morton made use of his megaphone to implore 
these impatient ones to wait for just one more 
event before the noon recess, the ladies’ war- 
canoe race. 

There was a clapping of hands, apparently, to 
signify consent, and four canoes, each with four 
paddlers, lined up not far from the Big Dock. 

The contestants were all in their bathing- 
suits, for the chances were that at least two, if 
not all, of the canoes, would tip before the 
short distance was covered; not, of course, if 
the paddlers kept a perfect rhythm, but then, 
with four in the canoe, that is not so easy as it 
sounds. 


THE REGATTA 


267 


The big red canoe had been pressed into 
service, Judith in the stern, Nancy the light¬ 
weight in the bow, Joyce and Alison in the cen¬ 
ter; Charlotte and Kate Morton were in the 
next with Mrs. Adams and Mrs. Fuller, a visi¬ 
tor at the Dawsons’. Joyce did not know the 
others, but they all seemed to have one charac¬ 
teristic in common — they were having a very 
good time. 

One of the boats was a little late; some one 
was changing into a bathing-suit just at the 
last moment, and the first three canoes, caught 
by the little breeze which was freshening con¬ 
siderably, bobbed restlessly about, and jock¬ 
eyed again and again for the favorable inside 
position. 

Christine up on the rocks adjusted the 
glasses, laughed and handed them to her 
mother. 

“Do look, Mum. See their white teeth 
flashing in the sun! Don’t they look jolly! 
There’s a gray canoe — that’s the Mortons’ — 
and the varnished one, I don’t know whose 
that is — and the Dawsons’ green one — and 
our red one; the different colors will make the 
race easy to follow.” 

The whistle blew and Christine’s face grew 


268 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


as tense as that of the most earnest paddler in 
the war-can6e. 

Bang! went the gun, and sixteen paddles 
went into action. 

One, two, one, two — Kate Morton’s paddle 
struck Charlotte’s, the rhythm was lost, the 
bow turned toward the red canoe — would 
they crash? No, Charlotte had swung her boat 
straight again, but she had lost her place, and 
had had to drop behind with the gray one. 

One, two, one, two — the lithe young fig¬ 
ures in the old red canoe were bending and 
swaying in a rhythm as beautiful as a lovely 
phrase of music. Christine’s eyes shone. Of 
course they would win. Judy — 

There was a shout of laughter, a roar of 
laughter, as in the twinkling of an eye, within 
only a few yards of victory, the red canoe 
turned suddenly over, and the four paddlers 
were in the water. 

The girls came up laughing. 

“Joy and I’ll see to the canoe,” said Judith, 
shaking the hair back from her eyes. “You 
make for the wharf, Nancy — no, do go on. 
Alison, you take her, leave me a paddle. You 
all right, Joy?” 

Another shout, the gray was over too, and 
an easy victory left for the green. 


THE REGATTA 


269 


It was rather a point of honor to right one’s 
canoe and bring her back without any outside 
help. The two girls got their boat righted, but 
it shipped a great deal of water in the process, 
and would have to be tipped again, unless they 
could push it along and swim to the dock. In 
the excitement of watching the end of the race, 
the onlookers did not seem to be paying any at¬ 
tention to their efforts, and it was pretty heavy 
going. ’Twas not for nothing that the red canoe 
boasted of the nickname, “The Old Red 
Cow.” So they were not at all sorry when 
Drew came alongside in Sputter, assured them 
that nobody could expect to manage the Red 
Cow when she was in such a state of mind —• 
and told them to climb in and leave her to him. 

Ken-jockety seemed to be carrying off her 
share of the honors according to accounts given 
at luncheon-time. 

Peggy had won the swimming-race “for 
girls, nine and under,” but had been hopelessly 
beaten at rowing by Margy and Nora, had, in 
fact, straggled in a very late sixth to the amuse¬ 
ment of the judges who were starting another 
race. Dick had tied with Tip for first place in 
swimming, had second place in canoe singles, 
and was hoping — hoping largely and grandly 


270 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


— for first place in diving. Joyce and Alison 
had won the doubles in the Veery after a hard 
battle, and the former had tied for second in the 
swimming. The results of the various diving 
contests were not yet known; but that Drew 
and Joyce were both to carry off first prizes was 
Christine’s firm and unshakable opinion. 

But for Joyce and for Drew, the real contest 
of the day was yet to begin. Comet must win 
the “Cock-o’-the-Walk” flag. The wind was 
right. “A pretty decent little breeze,” Drew 
pronounced, as, after a hasty luncheon, they 
came down to the dock once more. Could one 
hope for more than that? 

Comet and the red canoe were put on a tow 
behind the valiant little Sputter, and away 
went the whole party again. 

“There are to be seven dinghies in the race. 
Drew says,” Christine shouted in Joyce’s ear 
as Sputter chugged her way across the bay, 
“but he’s afraid of only three others — Hugh, 
and Charlotte, and Ted. However, Hugh’s 
Gull is better in a heavier wind; this is just 
right for Comet; Charlotte will be apt to lose 
her head.” 

Professor and Mrs. Davidson, with Chris¬ 
tine and the children, climbed up to their 


THE REGATTA 


271 


vantage-point on the rocks. Many of the 
other campers were there, too, but some were 
in motor-boats and meant to follow the race as 
closely as they could. Of course, those who 
stayed near the dock would see only the start 
and the end of the race. 

The dinghies sailed out to the starting-buoy, 
looking like a flock of great white butterflies. 

The next few minutes were apt to be trying 
ones, Drew had told Joyce. A great deal would 
depend on the position that they managed to 
obtain during the five minutes of jockeying 
after the “five-minute gun.” 

Joyce looked about. Yes, there were the 
Gull and the Flapper, and Ted’s Swallow. Eh 
hien! What chance could ces autres have with a 
Comet! 

Bang! went the “five-minute gun.” 

Joyce’s eyes blazed with excitement, but her 
voice was perfectly cool as she told off the min¬ 
utes from the stop-watch in her hand. 

“Four.” 

“Three and a half.” 

“Three.” 

“Two and a half.” 

“Two.” 

“One and three quarters.” 


272 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“One.” 

“One half.” 

Bang! They were off! 

Up on the rocks Christine clasped her hands 
in ecstasy. Drew had managed so that he was 
closer to the wind than the others, and with 
this advantage they would surely lead around 
the second buoy, she thought. 

Comet was leading, with the Gull and the 
Swallow close behind. So far so good. Joyce 
waved her hand consolingly at Hugh and Ted, 
and smiled triumphantly at Drew. He was 
worth looking at just then, his blue eyes shin¬ 
ing with the joy of the game, his whole body 
alert, tense, alive, in every muscle and nerve. 

“Ready about!” Comet headed for the 
second buoy, but she had lost a little ground 
on that second tack, and the Swallow, with a 
longer, swifter flight, was ahead of her, and — 
could it be true? — yes — had rounded the 
buoy before her. 

Joyce smiled as brightly as ever, but she was 
glad Christine couldn’t see. And the Gull was 
creeping up. Hugh had rounded the buoy very 
cleverly, one must admit that, but Comet kept 
her second place as they went around the third 
buoy. 


THE REGATTA 


273 


They were out near the open now, and a 
problem was confronting Drew. Should he 
make for the open and get the full sweep of the 
breeze, or should he stick close to the shore and 
take a chance of getting an “offshore” wind? 
The three leading boats were so close together 
(Charlotte had evidently lost her head or 
something, for the Flapper was nowhere near 
them!) that his decision would probably make 
or mar the race as far as Comet was concerned. 

Hugh and Ted evidently had no doubts —• 
they headed for the open; but Drew decided 
on the other course. For one awful moment 
Joyce was sure that Drew had made a mistake; 
she saw the breeze in the outer bay filling out 
the sails, and the Gull and the Swallow racing 
along as she had hoped fervently that Comet 
would be doing. She looked at Drew and her 
loyalty reasserted itself. Drew must be right. 

And this time, at any rate, he was. Sud¬ 
denly the land breeze caught Comet’s sail; she 
seemed almost pushed by an unseen force —* 
and, as they had not so far to go as Hugh and 
Ted, Comet crossed the line a full ten yards 
ahead of the other two! 

“Nice little race,” said Drew in satisfied 
tones. 


274 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


“Quite,” replied Joyce; and she added de¬ 
murely, “Perhaps some day you will take me 
for a really exciting race.” 

Drew looked slightly astonished, and Joyce 
had just time before they landed to say in 
scornful tones: 

“Drew Davidson, it was thrilling, absolutely 
and perfectly thrilling, and you know it very 
well.” 

This was the last race of the day’s sports, 
and people were already moving toward the 
grove where the prizes were to be distributed, 
but Christine and Judith and all their special 
friends were waiting until the sailors landed, 
and, although Joyce didn’t need their congrat¬ 
ulations to fill her cup of happiness to over¬ 
flowing, still they were very pleasant to hear. 
Hugh and Ted and Drew plunged into a dis¬ 
cussion of the possibilities of that third buoy 
in an offshore breeze, but Christine, who was 
longing to hold in her hands the coveted flag, 
would not let them linger. 

“I’m almost sorry there is a prize even 
though it is the ‘ Cock-o ’the-Walk ’ flag,” said 
Joyce as they moved slowly toward the grove. 
“The race itself was such splendid sport.” 

Christine’s eyes rounded with amazement. 


THE REGATTA £75 

“Not want the ‘Cock-o’-the-Walk’!” she 
said. “Why, Joyce Virginia Hamilton!” 

But Drew’s glance showed that he under¬ 
stood and Joyce was quite content. 


CHAPTER XIV 
THE GIFT 

“I wish September days weren’t so delicious,” 
said Christine. “If the weather were disagree¬ 
able, I shouldn’t object nearly so much to going 
back to the city. As it is, it gets worse every 
day and — ” 

The last words were lost in a series of sharp 
explosions from Sputter, who seemed to think 
that the holiday season had been quite long 
enough. 

“Why do you bother any longer. Drew?” 
asked Joyce when she could be heard. “Let’s 
take canoes and not try to go so far. It would 
be lovely up the Five-Mile Channel to-day.” 

The two girls were sunning themselves on 
the wharf while Drew worked at the engine. 

“She’s all right now,” he said, straightening 
up and reaching for the red canoe’s towline. 
“The stretches of cardinal flower up the river 
will be worth going to see. And this may be 
our last chance. I’ve got to get the boats put 
away for winter. Everything ready, Chris?” 

“Not quite,” said Christine. “I’ll get the 
butter-pail now and call the children.” 


THE GIFT 


277 


“ Seems funny not to have Aunt Fran here 
to say good-bye to us,” said Joyce a few min¬ 
utes later as they cast off from the wharf. 
“They’re having a lovely day to begin with, at 
all events.” 

“Didn't they look happy?” said Christine. 
“ They wouldn’t miss this trip by themselves for 
the world. I gave them all sorts of instructions 
about being careful and not being late coming 
home to-morrow, and I’ve promised that we’ll 
be back by half-past six at the latest. Now, 
Dicky, if you’re going in the canoe you’ve got 
to sit down properly. You might tip over and 
we mightn’t know it because Sputter makes 
such a noise, and I don’t want to have to think 
about a single thing.” 

“ I guess I could make more noise than Sput¬ 
ter,” declared Dicky, stretching himself out in 
the canoe. “Did you fasten the rope, Chris? 
P’r’aps I better do it again.” 

Christine shook her head and pointed to 
Drew for answer, and, after another snarl or 
two of anger. Sputter seemed to resign herself 
to another day’s laborious chug-chugging and 
they were off. 

As they entered the inner bay and headed 
toward the river, Christine, who was talking 


278 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

with Joyce, broke off suddenly to say to Drew: 
“Why couldn’t we go by the outer channel and 
up the Musquash? There’s no wind, and we’ve 
been promising Joyce to take hej.” 

“ No reason why we shouldn’t if Joyce would 
like it,” was Drew’s prompt reply. 

“I was just wishing we were going to a new 
place,” confessed Joyce. “I can’t get away 
from this desire to explore.” 

“Very well, Madam Ulysses,” said Drew, 
altering his course, “the Musquash let it be. 
There’s a little swamp up there I’d like to ex¬ 
plore; Ted says he believes there’s an eagle’s 
nest in the neighborhood; we could have an 
early lunch and scout around a bit.” 

They steered for the open waters outside 
Wahnanee Bay and followed the Keewah’s 
course toward the mouth of the Musquash 
River. The possessors of large motor-boats 
often made trips out to the open and up and 
down the coast to the various summer resorts, 
but the Davidsons had to choose their day for 
such trips very carefully, for, while Sputter 
was very useful in quiet waters, she was not 
heavy enough for the big waves so often en¬ 
countered beyond the entrance to the bay. 

This morning, however, the great stretches 


THE GIFT 


£79 


of turquoise-blue water lay gently heaving as 
if in a soft sleep. It was evidently just the day 
for the trip. 

They crossed a wide open space and then fol¬ 
lowed a seemingly intricate course twisting and 
curving this way and that between the rocky 
islands. 

It was nearly noon before they landed at 
the swampy stretch of river-bank that Drew 
wished to explore, and after a quickly disposed- 
of luncheon Drew and Dicky went after birds, 
and the girls for flowers or berries or anything 
interesting which they might find near at hand. 
They found several patches of cardinal flower 
blazing with almost incredibly pure color, and 
Peggy, who had been unusually silent, went into 
ecstasies over it and added a few lovely stalks 
to the bouquet of asters and goldenrod which 
she was taking home for her mother. 

Something in the soft languorous quality of 
the sunshine seemed to have made them all a 
little quieter than usual. Joyce felt that she 
would be content just to sit and bask in the 
sun, and she and Christine and Peggy followed 
the boys rather slowly. 

It was a lazy, uneventful afternoon and, 
when they finally got into the boats and turned 


280 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


homeward again, Dicky complained loudly 
that they hadn’t seen an eagle or anything. 

“Don’t forget that lovely scarlet maple- 
tree,” began Christine reproachfully, and just 
at that moment they had their first thrill that 
day. 

The boat had drifted a few yards down¬ 
stream while Drew did something to the engine 
and Christine’s voice had evidently sounded 
louder than she realized, for, with a sudden 
whirring of many wings and much squawking 
and screeching, a flock of blue jays rose from a 
thicket of young trees where they had been 
feeding. 

“Where’s that camera?” demanded Dicky. 
“There must be a thousand of ’em!” 

“About a hundred, at all events,” said Drew. 
“Biggest crowd I’ve seen. I wonder what they 
are finding to eat in there?” 

“Oh, aren’t they beautiful!” said Christine. 
“ Do look at them flashing out from the 
leaves.” 

“And listen to their sweet music,” teased 
Drew, beginning to crank Sputter. “Who’s got 
the time? Quarter to six! I’d no idea it was so 
late. And it’s getting a bit breezy.” 

“I wonder if Dad and Mum have settled on 


THE GIFT 


£81 


a camping-place for the night,” said Christine 
as they neared the mouth of the river. “Don’t 
you think it’s a lovely idea for them to have a 
little honeymoon trip every year? I’m going to 
— why did you ever! Look at that wind, and 
up the river you wouldn’t know there was such 
a thing!” 

Drew wasn’t looking at the wind, but he was 
looking at the waves which the wind was roll¬ 
ing along. Joyce saw his lips tighten as he took 
in the situation. His orders came clearly and 
decisively. 

“Dicky, bring the paddles and come in here: 
better put on your coats, girls: we’re going to 
get splashed a bit, I’m afraid; the wind is north¬ 
west. Now watch for reefs, Dick; don’t take 
your eyes off the water. I’ve got to change the 
course.” 

Dicky, nothing loath, climbed over to the 
bow where he curled up like a friendly sharp- 
eyed brownie ready by a wave of his hand to 
right or left to steer their course. 

Drew tightened a screw, dropped in a little 
more oil, and listened. He looked relieved: 
Sputter was running better than she’d been 
doing all week. 

“I can’t believe that only an hour ago we 


282 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

didn’t know that the wind was blowing at all,” 
said Joyce, looking out over the bay where the 
whitecaps were racing along. “I never saw 
such a change in such a short time; think how 
still and quiet the water was in here when we 
came down.” 

“We ought to have remembered that it 
nearly always gets rough in the afternoon at 
this time of year,” said Christine, a little so¬ 
berly. “However, as Drew said, he can pretty 
nearly find his way blindfolded through these 
channels.” 

Just then Dicky’s hand shot out, Drew 
turned sharply to the left, a big wave rolled 
past them, and Joyce, unafraid as she was, 
could scarcely repress a shudder when she saw 
the long jagged reef they had missed by inches 
only. 

“There’s one good thing,” said Peggy, shak¬ 
ing the water from her coat — for the big wave 
had given them a good-sized splash in passing 
— “ Mother isn’t sitting at home looking for 
us.” 

Joyce snuggled Peggy a little closer; what a 
lamb she was! 

“There are lots of good things, honey,” she 
said, “and you’re one of them. Tell me what 


THE GIFT 


283 


you’ve been thinking about all day; have you 
made up a new story?” 

“Not really new,” said Peggy shyly. “I 
was just adding new pieces to the old ones; I 
wondered if ‘Alice’ would like this country as 
much as she liked the ‘Looking-Glass Coun¬ 
try.’ Do you think she could have interesting 
adventures here?” 

“Surely,” said Joyce. “Suppose you make 
up one adventure, and I’ll make another; then 
we’ll compare them when we get home.” 

They had to cross a rather long open stretch 
of water soon after they turned north; the 
waves were gathering in volume every minute; 
Dicky was given one of the waterproof coats, 
the other was put over the engine; Sputter was 
doing her valiant best, but the smooth “chug- 
chug” which had delighted Drew’s ears a short 
while before was jerky now as if the stanch old 
boat were losing her breath, and, although she 
rode the big green rollers as gallantly as ever, 
Drew looked anxious. 

“This isn’t the way we came, is it?” Joyce 
asked Christine as they bailed out the water. 

“No,” said Christine. “Drew’s got to head 
into the waves. I don’t recognize this — ” 

She had raised her voice because of the noise 


284 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


of wind and engine, and suddenly it seemed 
that she was shouting. 

Sputter had stopped. 

Christine dropped her tin and seized a pad¬ 
dle; Joyce did not need to be told to get the 
other one. It was all the two of them could do 
to keep the bow pointed straight. 

Drew bent over the engine, gave her some 
oil, turned on the gas, cranked vigorously, and 
then stifled a quick exclamation of dismay. 

“What is it?” asked Christine. 

“Connecting-rod broken,” said Drew, 
“though how, beats me! We’ll have to make 
for land and go home in the canoe. Give me 
your paddle, Joy, you and Chris can take 
turns. Dicky, steer for the south shore, there, 
the nearest island.” 

It was slow going, and Sputter seemed im¬ 
possibly heavy. But little by little, almost inch 
by inch it seemed to Joyce, they crept along 
toward the ro^ky shore. 

And then the unbelievable happened. 

One moment they were pushing through the 
water with all their strength, and the next, their 
paddles struck rock and Sputter, wavering un¬ 
certainly for a moment, lay over on her side. 

What followed would always remain as a 


THE GIFT 


285 


nightmare memory to Joyce: Christine’s cry 
of “Dicky! Dicky!” Drew’s quick jump over¬ 
board; the horrible suspense until the two 
faces reappeared; their efforts to right Sputter 
as they all stood on the slippery reef unable to 
see how secure was their foothold; those last 
few hundred yards of paddling against time 
for the water was now rushing in through a big 
ugly gash in Sputter’s side; Drew s effort to 
save the canoe as a wave smashed them up 
against the rocks; his white face and helpless 
arm as another angry wave completed the 
breaking of the canoe; their united and almost 
superhuman efforts to drag Sputter a little way 
up on a shelving rock. 

The sky, had they had time to look at it, had 
been offering them a magnificent sunset of 
piled-up masses of tawny cloud dyed purple 
and rose and shot with flaming bars of golden 
light, but, as they gave Sputter a final pull and 
looked about them to take stock of their sur¬ 
roundings, the last glowing bars of color were 
fading, and it was evident that the early 
autumn darkness would soon be upon them. 

“Hurrah, we’re going to camp out for the 
night, too!” said irrepressible Dicky. “Can’t 
let Dad and Mum have all the fun.” 


286 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

“ I’m glad the basket and the big coat are in 
the bow,” said Christine practically. “Let’s 
get them out. Dicky, you climb over.” 

“Drew, you’ve hurt yourself!” said Joyce 
as she saw him painfully try to lift his arm. 

“Drew!” Christine was beside him in an in¬ 
stant. “Is it broken?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” said Drew, the 
beads of perspiration standing on his forehead 
as he tried again. “It would hurt more; I 
guess it’s just strained; that last wave was pos¬ 
itively vicious; it cracked the poor Red Cow 
and me at the same time.” 

Drew spoke lightly, but Joyce felt an under¬ 
current of anxiety in his tones. She herself had 
no room for fears so glad was she to feel solid 
earth, or rock, under her feet again. Those five 
minutes out on the slippery reef were not 
pleasant to think upon. 

“How would it be if you and Peggy would 
find the most sheltered spot for our camp and 
lay a fire?” said Drew. “Chris and I will take 
care of whatever Dicky salvages from the 
wreck, and tie up the canoe.” 

“Right-o,” said Joyce cheerfully. “Come 
on, we’ll be explorers, Peggy. We’ll run so as to 
let the wind dry our clothes.” 


THE GIFT 


287 


When they returned some ten minutes later, 
after making a tour of the island, to report that 
there was a splendid place for a camp just a lit¬ 
tle south of where they had landed, they found 
that Christine had put Drew’s arm in a sling 
and helped Dicky make Sputter fast to a big 
boulder. 

Dicky was enjoying himself thoroughly. He 
was frankly sorry that he and Drew were not 
alone so that they could be Robinson Crusoe 
and his man Friday, but cheered up again 
when Christine reminded him of the “ Swiss 
Family Robinson.” 

“They got more out of their wreck than we 
have,” he announced just as Joyce and Peggy 
returned with their news. “It’s a good thing 
we didn’t finish those sandwiches at luncheon. 
I’m starving to death.” 

“So am I,” said Joyce. “I could eat every¬ 
thing in sight—” 

She stopped abruptly. Something in the 
look that passed between Drew and Christine 
told her. This was Drew’s anxiety. Suppos¬ 
ing it were still rough to-morrow and no one 
passed by? 

“Well, you’re not going to eat everything 
in sight,” Christine was saying firmly. “You 


288 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


had a perfectly enormous luncheon and we’ll 
want these sandwiches for breakfast. Let’s get 
a fire going. Won’t it be nice to snuggle down 
and go to sleep.” 

“Good work,” said Drew as he surveyed the 
sheltered spot Joyce and Peggy had chosen 
and inspected the fire laid in a crevice of the 
rock. “Couldn’t have built a better one my¬ 
self. You shall have the honor of striking one 
of our precious matches. Hold it low down 
here. This is really a shipwreck de luxe , for 
we’ve matches — ten, no, eleven of ’em — and 
plenty of firewood.” 

“What’s the island like, Joy?” asked Chris¬ 
tine, holding her hands to the warmth. 

“Very flat,” said Joyce, “and no very high 
trees; these pines are the biggest; the north 
shore is absolutely bare as far as we could 
see.” 

The wind was stronger than ever; the tiny 
fire had to be well sheltered, but no one con¬ 
fessed to being cold, and indeed the exertions 
of the last hour and the cup of cocoa which 
Christine had made them induced a pleasant 
drowsiness. 

In another larger crevice Drew and Dicky 
put a thick carpet of balsam twigs and pine- 


THE GIFT 


289 


needles for the girls’ bed, and found shelter for 
themselves behind the roots of the pine-tree. 

Joyce spoke truly when she declared that 
she was quite comfy and snug. The fissure 
in the rock was two or three feet deep, about as 
wide across and seven or eight feet long. The 
girls snuggled down under their coats, and in 
spite of the strangeness of their surroundings 
were soon sound asleep. 

Drew was not so lucky: his arm and 
shoulder were too painful to make sleep possi¬ 
ble, and his thoughts were not pleasant com¬ 
panions. 

Why had he been fool enough to change 
from their original plan? If no one passed to¬ 
morrow — and it was more than likely that this 
w r as the beginning of a September three days’ 
blow — his father and mother would have the 
agony of coming home to an empty house; 
they’d send out a search-party, but up the 
Wahnanee River toward Little Gull Lake, since 
that was where he had arranged to go. And he 
and Christine shared the disquieting knowledge 
that, after a breakfast in the morning of a cup 
of cocoa and a sandwich, there was no more 
food. If only he hadn’t hurt his shoulder so 
that he might swim to the mainland, or if 
only that last wave had spared the canoe. 


290 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Poor Drew, feverish with pain, tossed and 
turned all night long, making plans and reject¬ 
ing them, blaming himself, and trying to be 
philosophical. 

He fell sound asleep at last when the pale 
morning light was breaking through the veils 
of cloud in the east, and did not waken until he 
heard Dicky say, in his piercing whisper, “Yes, 
just as blowy as ever. Crickey, I’m hungry! 
Don’t let’s wait for Drew; he’s sleeping like a 
log.” 

Drew sat up quickly, though the pain in his 
stiff shoulder was agonizing. Was Dicky right? 
Was it really as stormy as ever? 

“Not quite so rough this morning, I think,” 
said Christine cheerfully. “Did you have a 
good sleep? You poor boy, that arm must be 
dreadfully sore!” 

And Christine, who welcomed any mis¬ 
chance which gave her an opportunity to pet 
and mother those she loved, was down on her 
knees in a moment beside him, holding his 
shoulder and helping him adjust the sling. 

“Never mind my old arm,” said Drew. 
“How’s the wind?” 

“A little more westerly,” said Christine, 
and fortunately for us, for Sputter is wedged 


THE GIFT 


291 


in more safely than ever. We’ll have breakfast 
ready in five minutes. Joyce is building an¬ 
other little fire — I don’t think she quite 
realizes — but perhaps she does — she and the 
children are playing a mixture of ‘Alice in 
Wonderland’ and ‘Swiss Family Robinson.’ 
If only Dad and Mum knew that we were 
safe!” 

Christine turned away quickly and went 
back to the others. She didn’t dare think 
about that return to an empty home. Surely 
the wind would go down! 

“Just a cup of cocoa for me, please,” said 
Joyce as Christine passed the sandwich box. 
“I’m not very hungry this morning.” 

“Nor me,” said Drew. “And cocoa is so 
nourishing.” 

“We’ll each have half a sandwich,” said 
Christine firmly. “It may be late before we 
get home.” 

“It’s a good thing we have the cocoa,” said 
Joyce, just for something to say, something to 
keep their minds away from the fact that it 
might be very late, indeed, before they got 
home. 

“And it’s another good thing,” said Peggy 
slyly imitating Joyce’s remark of the day be- 


292 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


fore, “that Mummy and Daddy will be late, 
too: they can’t paddle in this storm, can they? 
So nobody will know we are away.” 

“Clever child,” said Joyce. “I hadn’t 
thought of that. Judy, of course, might run 
over to see how we got on yesterday, but 
then she might think that Uncle Graeme and 
Aunt Fran had relented from their stern 
resolve not to take any of their children with 
them and had taken us all. I wonder if —” 

Joyce looked thoughtful. 

“Come on, Dicky,” said Drew suddenly; 
“let’s find the highest tree and put up a signal. 
Keep the fire going, Chris, and we’ll put on 
some green wood to make a good smoke. If 
only this pesky wind would let it have a fair 
show.” 

It was a long day. 

The wind blew steadily. The big green 
white-capped waves raced by the island. 
Joyce grew dizzy watching them. One is apt 
to grow dizzy on an empty stomach- 

A thorough search for berries had resulted in 
the finding of two or three stunted thimble- 
berry vines which yielded a handful of rather 
dry fruit. 

The berries and one slice of bread and butter 


THE GIFT 


293 


divided into five pieces had formed the founda¬ 
tion for a tea-party at which Drew had distin¬ 
guished himself as the “Mad Hatter,” and 
Peggy had been enthroned as “Alice” at the 
head of the table. 

Joyce was relieved to hear Peggy laughing so 
merrily at “Twinkle, twinkle, little bat,” for 
she had upset them all by bursting into tears 
when she found that Christine was dividing 
that last slice of bread between the two chil¬ 
dren. 

“As if I were a baby,” sobbed Peggy. 
“Can’t I bear being hungry as well as you can? 
I won’t eat any of it.” 

Peace was restored only on a promise of 
equal division being made. And Peggy had 
made good. She laughed and joked with the 
“March Hare” and the “Mad Hatter” and 
drank her thin cocoa — one teaspoonful for five 
cups is not very interesting — with great gusto. 

Drew’s arm was not so painful as it had 
been, but still was very stiff and sore. He had 
lit a fire on the east shore, but the wind was 
still too strong for it; he had little hope that 
their signal on the scrubby pine would be seen; 
he dared not think of to-morrow: if it were 
July or August he might count on a boat pass- 


294 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


ing, but September was a different matter; 
many people had closed their camps; and they 
were off the regular channel; he didn’t even 
know exactly where they were; he thought 
Nelson’s Bay was behind the next island, 
though he couldn’t be sure. 

They snuggled down again into the friendly 
crevice when darkness came and assured each 
other that they were going to have another 
long sleep. But sleep did not come so easily 
this second night. Hunger is not a sedative, and 
they were all uncomfortably hungry. There 
were little restless turnings, stealthy stretch¬ 
ing of tired, cramped limbs, and miserable mo¬ 
ments of self-reproach for Christine and Drew. 

Next morning the sun was shining when 
they wakened, but the wind still blew. This 
second day was a repetition of the previous one 
except that they had no food at all — nothing 
but water and a couple of lumps of sugar. 

Drew spent his time putting up another sig¬ 
nal, climbing the highest tree to search the 
channels for signs of a boat, and wandering 
restlessly up and down the island. Christine 
and he had several long talks together. Joyce 
felt that they were sharing some confidence or 
making some plan to which they did not wish 


THE GIFT 


295 


to admit her, so she devoted herself to trying to 
make Dicky and Peggy happy. And any one 
who knew Joyce would be certain of her suc¬ 
cess. Peggy’s laugh rang out again and again, 
and Dicky seemed to be happily busy over 
something that Joyce was superintending. No 
one confessed to the gnawing pain which was 
tormenting them all. The wind was keen and 
their appetites healthily insistent. 

Peggy fell into a feverish sleep in the after¬ 
noon and woke crying bitterly. She buried her 
face on Joyce’s shoulder and made heroic ef¬ 
forts to check her sobs. “It’s not because I’m 
hungry,” she managed to say, “but — I’m 
sorry for Mummy — she’ll be looking for us 
now.” 

Tears shone in Joyce’s eyes as she patted 
Peggy’s shoulder and talked about the raft 
they were going to make in the morning. 

“We’ll paddle across to that big island there 
and from there to the mainland; then we’ll 
walk across to Wahnanee; I heard Drew say 
he didn’t think we were more than three miles 
away from the Bay; probably we’ll land at 
the Huntleys’. Wont Nora be surprised to see 
us! We’ll seize their motor-boat and fly, just 
fly, to Ken-jockety.” 


296 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


Peggy gave a shaky little laugh. 

"IPs a pity they haven’t an aeroplane,” she 
said, "like Nancy’s brother has — then we 
could fly — Nancy’s brother said if he ever 
came near here, even as near as Parry Sound, 
he’d take Judy and me up in the air with him.” 

"Huh! You’d be scared, you would,” said 
Dicky who had joined them. "Girls are al¬ 
ways scared when they go up. I wouldn’t be. 
I’m going to be a flying fire-ranger like Jock 
Nairn, and drop down bombs on the fires 
from my aeroplane. I’ll go round the world 
too.” 

Joyce left them talking about future trips to 
China and India and went to meet Christine, 
who had been talking to Drew at the shore. 

There was such anxiety in Christine’s eyes 
that Joyce stopped her and said simply, 
"Don’t tell me if you’d rather not, Chris, but I 
can see you are worrying about something, and 
if it would help you to share it with me —” 

"It’s Drew,” said Christine with lips that 
trembled in spite of her efforts. " He says that 
lie’s going to swim across to-morrow, no matter 
how rough it is — he won’t let me try — and 
my head does get dizzy, I know — and, besides, 
either Dicky or I would probably get lost. 


THE GIFT 


297 


Drew has a pretty good idea where’we are, but 
you know there are so few landmarks to go by 
and so many swamps and bogs to go around, it’s 
: awfully easy to get lost. Joyce, he mustn’t go. 
j He couldn’t swim all that way with a sprained 
shoulder, and he’s weak, too, from pain and 
sleeplessness.” 

“Didn’t I hear you speak of a raft?” asked 
Joyce, patting Christine’s head which like 
Peggy’s had sought comfort on her shoulder. 

“ He thought he might patch up something,” 
said Christine in muffled tones, “but the tools 
are all gone and neither of the boats can be 
used.” 

“He’ll think of something in the morning. 
Night’s a bad time for plans. I believe we’ll 
get across in something in the morning. Per* 
haps we could hang on to the canoe and take 
turns pushing it along. I’ll go down and pro¬ 
pound my scheme. Don’t you think we might 
have a drink of hot water with one of your 
precious lumps of sugar and some wintergreen 
leaves brewed in it?” 

Christine raised her head and wiped away 
her tears. Here was something to do. 

“You’re a brick, Joy,” she said — “no, a 
rock — like a big shelter. Do talk to Drew, 



298 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


won’t you? He needs to be comforted — I 
don’t know what we would have done without 
you.” 

Joyce went on with a happy feeling warming 
her heart. A comfort — a shelter! That was 
worth while. 

Drew was gazing moodily at the canoe which 
he had pulled up on the rocks, but he looked up 
with a smile as Joyce approached. It wasn’t 
Drew’s usual merry smile; there was some¬ 
thing about it that sent a pang through Joyce’s 
heart. Drew was, indeed, in need of comfort. 

“Can we do something with the boats to¬ 
morrow?” she asked, going to the point at 
once. “Couldn’t we use the canoe at all?” 

“I’m afraid not,” said Drew. “Perhaps we 
ought to have tried yesterday, but I hoped my 
arm would be better to-day. It is strained 
more than I thought at first. The canoe 
wouldn’t be any help: it’s a question of swim¬ 
ming to that island and from there to the main¬ 
land. I might let Dicky try if we knew how 
wide the stretch of water was on the other side, 
but we can’t see, and how could I face Mother 
and Dad if —” 

“What are the chances of a boat passing by 
here to-morrow?” 


THE GIFT 


299 


Drew hesitated, looked at Joyce whose eyes 
demanded the truth, and then turned again 
toward the water. 

“Pretty slim,” he said slowly as if the words 
hurt him. “We’re off the track, you know, and 
they are hunting for us up the river by now. If 
I hadn’t been a fool — Joy, there isn’t any¬ 
thing I can say to tell you how I feel about let¬ 
ting you in for this.” 

“Don’t try,” said Joyce quickly. “I’ll be 
furious with you if you do. Am I a baby? 
Can’t I take my share of hard things? Will 
you do something for me? Will you persuade 
yourself that we’ll find a way in the morning 
and go to sleep feeling sure of it? I feel quite 
certain myself that something is going to hap¬ 
pen to-morrow. I’ve a plan, several plans —- 
there’s Chris calling us for our hot drink now.” 

“If your plans include swimming across to 
the island, I forbid it, absolutely , Joy: you 
might make it, but — you mightn’t — and 
you’d almost certainly get lost. Cross out that 
plan, please, at once.” 1 

“Will you rest to-night as I’ve asked you, 

; please , Drew?” 

“Yes,” said Drew, and he stumbled a little 
on the path as if he had suddenly relaxed and 


300 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


was fainfyand giddy. “I promise. Joy, you’re 

— a — decent — sort — a — a — brick. I 
don’t know what we’d have done without you 

— I haven’t been blind —” 

Joyce’s cheeks and eyes glowed. She could 
have sung for sheer happiness. That was won¬ 
derfully worth while. It was nice to have peo¬ 
ple do things for one — comfort and help and 
protect — but wasn’t it splendid to do it one’s 
self! To think of being able to help Drew! 

The morning and the evening were the 
second day. 

No one slept much that night. Peggy was in 
a burning fever; they all felt nauseated and 
giddy, and the gnawing pain would not leave 
them. 

As it grew light, Joyce, who had been lying 
awake thinking, raised herself cautiously and 
looked at Christine and Peggy. Yes, they were 
both asleep. 

Peggy stirred, murmured something which 
Joyce could not hear, and turned over disclos¬ 
ing a tear-stained, flushed face. There were 
black rings under Christine’s eyes and her face 
was drawn and white. 

Very carefully Joyce climbed out of the crev¬ 
ice and went down to the water’s edge. Her 


THE GIFT 


301 


head felt light, a feeling of nausea swept over 
her as she walked, she bathed her face, got her¬ 
self a drink, and felt better. She stood up 
again and tried to estimate the distance to the 
next island. Was it twice as far as that long 
swim she had taken to the Gull’s Rock, or half 
as much again? 

Then she smiled. “You know very well that 
we’re going to try, Joyce Virginia Hamilton, 
right now before any one wakens — and we’re 
glad, oh, we’re glad to try. Isn’t it a piece of 
luck that I’ve my carpentry pencil here?” 

She produced a little flat pencil and looked 
about her for something on which to write. 
Her eye fell on the picnic-basket and she wrote 
along its handle. 

I’m going for help; don't follow me. I’m glad to 
try. My love to you all and to Aunt Fran. Don’t 
be sorry. 

Joy 

In the basket was a little tin in which were 
four precious lumps of sugar. Joyce looked at 
them, put on the cover, took it off again. She 
hated to do it, but, if she were to get help, she 
must have the stimulus which the sugar would 
give. Slowly she took out two of the lumps and 
then crept quietly down to the shore. She 


302 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

wanted badly to go back and take a good-bye 
look, but she daren’t risk it. She ate her sugar 
slowly, savoring every grain while she walked 
to the north shore. Now for a plan of cam¬ 
paign. She had realized yesterday that she 
couldn’t fight her way against the waves for 
the whole distance, but if she could go part way 
with the wind and then strike out when she got 
in the shelter of the island, there was a chance 
she could make it. 

Yes, the wind was less violent and more 
westerly than yesterday. That would help. 

She took off everything but her bloomers 
and middy, put her rubber shoes in her pockets 
and lay down to rest for a few moments. 

She knew quite well that she was running a 
risk — two risks: her strength might give out 
before she reached the mainland, or she might 
succeed in battling a way to the mainland only 
to be lost in the endless maze of swamp and 
lake and forest. 

She quite realized the dangers and the possi¬ 
bility that her sacrifice might be a vain one. 
And yet — yet — she was serenely happy. 

A little longer she lay in the sun which was 
getting dangerously high — any moment Chris¬ 
tine might waken to miss her — then she stood 


THE GIFT 


303 


up again, waved her hand and blew a fare¬ 
well kiss to the sleepers, sent up a wordless 
prayer for help, and pushed off into the water. 

“ Half an hour ought to do it, Joyce Virginia 
Hamilton,” she said to herself, swimming 
slowly and easily. “Half an hour? That’s 
nothing, nothing at all. Why, I could swim for 
hours in this beautiful soft warm water. Now, 
we’ll swim for a while, and then, the very mo¬ 
ment we’re tired, we’ll float, and then, when 
we’re rested, we’ll strike out again. I don’t be¬ 
lieve the waves will be nearly so big once we 
can get south of that rocky point — There, 
we’re doing beautifully — Why, I actually 
thought we might be tired when we got as far 
as this. A few minutes more and then we’ll 
float. Hurrah! What did I tell you? It’s going 
to be much calmer — in there — Isn’t sugar 
wonderful! — A good thing I read about that 
prisoner escaping from Germany and having 
nothing but sugar to eat — and he had to swim 
under fire — Now, then, Joyce Virginia, show 
what stuff you’re made of!” 

One, two; one, two; one, two; one, two. 

She swam rhythmically, slowly, sparing her-' 
self every effort that she could, meeting the 
waves one at a time, triumphing over each one 


304 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


conquered, using her brain to outwit their sul¬ 
len strength, changing from breast-stroke to 
the crawl, turning on her back and using her 
feet only, then back again to the first stroke. 
One, two; one, two; one, two. 

“When we reach the island we’ll have a nice rest. 
When we reach the island we’ll have a nice rest,” — 

she sang to herself, accenting the rhythm with 
slow, easy strokes. 

The blood was pounding in her ears now. 
She had not met the last waves so buoyantly 
as she had met those first big battering break¬ 
ers, and it was queer because these waves were 
not nearly so big and brutal — brutal, that 
was a good word for those big green white- 
capped fellows; these were gentle, easy, sup¬ 
pose she rested awhile. “Show what stuff 
you’re made of — Come along over on your 
back — What did Dicky call this stroke?—• 
Bless Dicky’s heart, he’s kept a stiff upper lip 
— ‘When we reach the island we’ll have a nice 
rest — When we reach the island we’ll have a 
nice rest’—Now, then, breast stroke once 
more Didn 11 tell you it would be easier in 
here? — We’re nearly there — Never mind the 
pounding; of course you’re a little dizzy; easy 


THE GIFT 305 

now, one, two, one, two, we’re almost there — 
Show what stuff —” 

Pretty good stuff it must have been; for, al¬ 
though the last few hundred yards seemed 
miles and her ear-drums about to burst with 
the pounding blood, she struggled on and on, 
encouraging, cheering, reassuring herself, and 
climbing up at last on to the rocky shore, a 
veritable triumph of mind over body. 

She lay on the beach in the warm sunshine, 
her breath coming at first in hard gasps, her 
limbs unutterably weary. Then she sat up and 
looked eagerly across the channel. No, she 
couldn’t see the camp from here. She walked 
around to the west shore. Yes, there were the 
pines with the signal floating stiffly in the wind 
— S.O.S. it meant, Dicky had said — any¬ 
body would know it. She would have liked to 
wave to them, but there was no sign of life on 
the shore and perhaps it was better — they 
might try to follow if they saw her. 

She wrung the water out of her clothes and 
lay face down on the warm rocks, the sweet 
sense of victory hardly won stealing through 
her veins. She slept, perhaps an hour or so, for 
when she woke the sun was high, and she 
jumped to her feet with an exclamation of dis- 


306 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


may at the time she had wasted, and almost 
ran to the eastern shore to see what sort of chan¬ 
nel she had here to cross. A thicket of scrub 
poplar blocked her view and then — hurrah! 
From the northeast one, two, three, little 
rocky islets broke the channel, and beyond 
that was the blessed mainland. No big brutal 
waves in here. And the wind? Why, the wind 
had gone. 

With a smile Joyce was in again, swimming 
easily, buoyantly, climbing up on to the first 
island, resting a few minutes, then down again 
into the friendly little waves. 

As she neared the shore she chuckled. “If I 
could send a radio to those blessed dears it 
would have to read something like this:” 

In again, out again, off again. 

The mainland! 

Joy again! 

Once more Joyce looked back, this time care¬ 
fully. She couldn’t be sure, but — yes — 
there was the tree — Now, what had Drew 
said? — due northeast he’d go — Very well, 
then due northeast she’d go — and she didn’t 
need a compass out here on the coast-line, for 
the little pines, bent down before the great 
northwest gales, would be a guide. 


THE GIFT 


307 


It was hard going: every muscle in her tired 
body called out for rest; her head whirled; 
rocky slopes up which she would have run 
gayly and easily now loomed high as moun¬ 
tains; she kept a sharp lookout for berries, but 
found none; a long detour had to be made to 
avoid a deep bay; another, because of a 
swamp; she grew dizzier, hands and cheeks be¬ 
gan to burn; she was horrified to find herself 
laughing and crying; she struggled on, but she 
now had no notion of the direction she was 
taking; she felt numb, light-headed; a searing 
pain racked her head; a wave of darkness fell 
upon her; she stumbled against a fallen pine- 
tree. 

“Have a nice rest,” she murmured. “When 
we reach the island, we’ll have a nice rest — I 
can’t fail — God won’t let me fail — They’re 
all so splendid — Give them back to Aunt 
Fran safe and sound —” 

She woke with a start. What was that 
sound? There it was again a buzzing an 
enormous buzzing like that of a million bees. 
Where could they be? She tried to rise, to get 
under cover of the trees by the little lake. 
Could she cross that open space of rock to the 
lake? She must. She looked up as she tottered 


308 CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 

forward. She was too late. A great golden bee 
— a monstrous bee, blotting out the sun, the 
sky, was coming down, down. Darkness cov¬ 
ered her. 

The buzzing ceased. A man jumped from 
the aeroplane and ran toward her. Joyce 
opened her eyes and smiled. 

“Are you the bee?” she asked. “Have you 
any berries? I — I beg your pardon — what 
did I say?” 

Darkness was coming again. She wanted to 
slip down into it quietly and rest, but a teasing 
little thought in her brain wouldn’t let her. 

Something hot trickled down her throat and 
stung her back to consciousness. Two faces 
were bending over her. 

Try again, a friendly voice was saying. 
Where did you leave them? We ought to 
hurry.” 

The mists cleared. 

“Why, it’s Nancy’s brother! Where? On an 
island — S.O.S. on the pine-tree — one island 
between us and the mainland — could you give 
them a message?” 

The two bent forward eagerly to catch the 
whispered words: 

In again, out again, off again — Joy again 


THE GIFT 309 

— Aunt Fran’s joy, you know — when I give 
them back to her safe and sound.” 

Ten days later, the Davidsons, looking 
strangely unfamiliar in “town” clothes, were 
waiting on the Big Dock for the arrival of the 
Keewah. 

Hugh and Noel, Charlotte and Alison, were 
there to say good-bye. Dr. and Mrs. Benson 
were staying another week, but Judith was to 
go down to Toronto to-day to be in time for 
the opening of York Hill. 

Mrs. Davidson, a little tired after the stren¬ 
uous work of closing Ken-jockety for the win¬ 
ter, sat quietly watching her children chatting 
and laughing with their friends. A very mir¬ 
acle of healing had been wrought during these 
last ten days of rest and quiet, for there was no 
trace, on the happy, youthful faces, of the fa¬ 
tigue and stress of the fateful first of Septem¬ 
ber picnic which might have ended so tragi¬ 
cally. About the mother’s eyes, however, were 
little lines drawn there by the agony of that day 
of seemingly fruitless searching. Not yet could 
she forget. 

Drew came out of the post-office with yes¬ 
terday’s mail. The lovely, tender, brooding 


310 


CAMP KEN-JOCKETY 


mother-look was in her eyes as she watched 
him distributing the letters and papers. Drew, 
Christine, Dicky, Peggy, all of them, dearer 
than ever. And Joyce? The love-light in her 
eyes deepened as she looked. Joyce need never 
again be without mother-arms about her, 
mother-love brooding over her. 

“From Nancy!” cried Judith pouncing on 
her letter and eagerly opening it. 

Joyce turned over her letters: one from 
Markham & King — some legal paper to sign, 
she supposed; one from Cousin Edith; and, 
yes, one with a French stamp and her father’s 
handwriting. 

“Nancy is thrilled,” announced Judith. 
“She’s just had a letter from Jack describing 
how they made the landing on Jean Jacques’s 
meadowland and were just in time to be able to 
join in the search; she thinks it was awfully 
clever of Tom to see Joy’s white middy blouse 
and — Oh, Chris! Catherine is coming back 
next year! Oh, oh, I’m so glad —” 

She broke off as Joyce uttered a little cry, 
and Drew, who had been going toward the 
luggage-shed, turned back quickly. Not bad 
news surely! 

But Joyce’s eyes were shining as she looked 


THE GIFT 


311 


up for an instant and her voice trembled 
slightly with excitement as she read aloud 
from her father’s letter: 

The paper in the long blue envelope which 
should arrive about the same time as this, if my 
plans have worked out properly, is the deed to Lit¬ 
tle Moon Island; for “the absentee landlord” is 
none other than your own father (no one regrets 
more than he the justice of the term “absentee”), 
and, as he does not believe any more than you do in 
“absentee landlords,” he is transferring the said 
island, together with such duties and responsibili¬ 
ties as devolve upon the owner, such as a period of 
residence each year (when desired), to his dearly 
loved daughter, Joyce Virginia Hamilton. 

“Joy!” cried Christine, throwing her arms 
about her friend, to the complete extinguishing 
of glowing cheeks and shining gray eyes. 

“Christine!” said Joyce emerging, still radi¬ 
ant. “Summers at Wahnanee! One summer 
after another! And next door to you! Just 
a channel between us and Ken-jockety!” 

“Good work,” said Drew briefly, as his eyes 
met and held hers. But he meant a lot more. 
His father was right. Boys, like men, are dumb 
creatures. 


THE END 






































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